::~::Life::As::A::Bog::~::By::Gob::~::

Gob's Bog - The Boggy Blog : A Lyrical Tryst With An Alternative Life

Gob
A Gob's Eye View

On a Boggy Monday, September 06, 2004...

Can Calibans be Ariels ?

Gob's little tempest

Gob seeks an escape out of the paper's hard reality
Dismayed by the depravity, oppressed by its cruelty

Even the sun outside, fails to clear the gloom
The heavy silence in Gob's mind, casts a pall over the room

A dark maroon bound volume, on the lair kitchen shelf
Now holds out some hope of lightening, Gob's wretched self

Reaching out and flipping though it, Gob comes upon a verse
Painting a character in words, illustrative and yet terse

Caliban : the ugly, a slave of ill-fortune
Gropes about in darkness, under the island's sandy dune


How true, Gob thinks, that we are all Calibans in some way
Ugly is our soul, its beauty and warmth, spent toiling away

We don't care what happens, to the rest of our kind
It's just our own affairs that have a grip upon our mind

It doesn't bother us anymore, if a thousand die, or two
We have after all, our own puny goals to woo

So, isn't it best, one may wonder, to mind one's own business?
Leave the planet to its own means, and its occasional grisliness?

Fair enough, but do we ever think, what happens in that case?
If we let the flowers of hope, wither before our very face?

Despots and Tyrants, who have no other jobs to pursue
Rise up among us, and it's peace, which they eschew

Whining then, about the rotten state of politics and power
Will do us no good at all, as upon a dead cause, we'll hover

The same goes for the culture, which we lamely accept as "Trend"
Yet, when it floods our own lives, the dykes, we are unable to mend

We lap up pulp fiction, glorifying hate crimes
Yet despise the same, when they bring us upon hard times

Why, Gob asks, do we not see where we are going?
Our rafts, drifting without aim, desperately need some rowing

Look at our duplicity, in books and movies, it's okay?
It's lots of fun, isn't it? ; but in real life, it's all grey

Flock to the nearest theatre like sheep, buy an expensive ticket
All to see a demented tale of a widow, wielding the deathly wicket?

More incomprehensible, is when real facts begin to resemble fiction
We shrug them off as "freak" incidents, aren't we a walking contradiction?

We intentionally chose to be ugly; chose to be a slave
When the Ariel within us was dying, we chose to dance over its grave

Spent all our money on what the few despots fed us
Sold out our soul; gave it up without any fuss!

We could've been masters or, even better, just free
Could've been Ariels or the carefree Banshee

Gob searches deep, for the evanescent solution
A way out of bondage, a graceful evolution

1 Reflections :

Blogger 1beb reflected...

Gob, you own.

12:14 AM
 

Your thoughts?

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