The Graveyard of The Dead Poets

                                                           

It was a fine Sunday morning I woke up after a an incomplete sleep need .The sun was up way before, shining as bright as everyday .Rays of moist light and a touch of breeze leaping through my window.The clear blue sky couldn't compliment the scenario more.All of these leading my hopeless heart to one thing ,get up and pull 'Metamorphosis' of Franz Kafka and enjoy.But the urgency of attending my career architecting had other plans, Unfortunately I didn't have any snooze button for missing classes.We all have had days like this numerous times in our life.Wanting to escape this busy world ,put on the delusional mind and take a ride on the train of literature.It was not long before literature was the core of living.Everything was defined through dramas,poetry,sonnets and novels as well.Besides complementing the living of a man it also brought lessons to devour forever.But now like a bloomy rose literature has been long gone and pictured as a irrational tool hindering success.

The modern age demands effort.Not but effort also results that take you to the highest peak.The need to establish oneself branded with success and respect has made them workaholic robots.Principles of work ethics and constant competitive display has diverted man from his inner wants.Display of affection,kindness and emotional delusion is set as weakness.In any household literature and pursuing of it is discouraged not only for having dead end as a career but also symbolism of irrationality portraying picture of a weak man delusional enuogh to fail the great war on earth to survive.But is it that needless?As humans to find comfort in escapism for a moment?

Born as humans we were destined with utmost superiorty as species but with one great quality that is emotions.Our emotional capability defines the divine craft of creating us.And man has verily portrayed the beautiful picture through his words,arts and affection.In our daily life we think of reading books as and not needed luxury.But it is with books,stories,fiction,poetry that we find comfort.Not only for bringing out our passion but to explore the chambered heart and what it craves.And this being bearer of emotions driven doesnt make you weak.It is by fiction that we find our realities our own worlds to fight against every barrier that stands tall against us.The need of comfort,passion and finding ownself is what delivered by literature.

As we flow through passing of time day by day we are getting lost in modernity.The arrival of electronics,artificial screens have somewhat put is in closed closets.This resulting to mental dissatisfaction,depression ,anxiety and what not else.Also the slogan of 'Be tough and be rational' has put down many faces those who couldnt live up to the slogan.Many people who wanted to explore the world of art got slammed and buried their passion.Just beacuse literature and fiction is not trendy.

It is but time we open the leather printed covers of the classics ,unveil the spirits of the greats like Shakespere,Edgar alan poe,Wiilliam wordsworth and rediscover the spirit of life.Fight for the love we crave,and heap into the hands of words as our lives would find peace.As for the people who shame literature for the weak they are nothing but to fool themselves if the material joy.As the great actor Robin Williams had displayed through his character in the movie 'Dead poets society' saying 

'We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life.'

For finding the passion,the urge to relive this live we but must grasp our innerselves.And literature extends its hands for it.The fools will shout,they will take you down putiing money over your eyes but human souls is bound to be fed with passion and touch of nature.To end it is but remains a question if we have our joys to recieve and joys to give and pull of the dead from the graveyard of poets.As Whitman quotes,

"O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?”

Here is my verse .What will be yours?

What if I didn't want to win

this glorious battle of life?

Where you and me standing shoulder to shoulder

couldn't see the sparkling mind?

What if I killed the barbarian inside of me

and gave birth to a poet?

Who rhymed lunar beauty 

with every stride of fate.

What if the sky wasn't blue

and no birds to fly?

Would there be any joy any hope

that brought our eternal smile?