Passion; is the culmination of existence for an existing individual.

Kierkegaard

Advertisements

Faith; a paradox which no thought can master, because faith begins precisely where thinking leaves off.

Kierkegaard

“Success is neither magical nor mysterious. Success is the natural consequence of consistently applying the basic fundamentals.”
– Jim Rohn

Quote unquote

A mathematician learns more and more about less and
less, until he knows everything about nothing; whereas a
philosopher learns less and less about more and more,
until he knows nothing about everything

Anonymous

 

evolution of dreams

once upon a time,

t’was merely a cloudy piece of real estate,

built on the bricks  of imaginings,

plastered neatly with delusional mortar,

the true engineering of a wizard,

architectural blueprints  so impeccable in protrayal,

and yet so,

general in its form,

so non-committal & evasive in specifications,

thence came the dilapidation,

by then clouds too laden,

released the structure that ran aground,

wands now too fractured to control construction,

beautiful gothic intricacies rusted away,

and now,

remnants of ashy ruins remain,

a product of negligent arson,

but the mighty Babel shall rise again,

like the mythical phoenix,

it shall once again,

be the giant in the sky,

this time around,

shall be built by the  concrete hands of the mason,

no more employment of that old magic,

no more of its rancid jest,

t’is time to rebuild, solid and concrete,

to soar to and surpass the old heights,

an acquisition of even more splendid views,

an enchantment of a new kind of magic altogether shall emerge,

what’s that sound?

its the golden speech they speak of,

that which screams in utter meekness,

the pitch of alarm that resounds,

before an injustice ensues,

the wisdom that remains,

after the fool triumphs in discourse,

the noisy siren,

when a maelstrom of emotions erupts,

the peace we accord the fallen,

a momentary honor,

the outerwear when shame is all about,

it is the verbosity  when a lesson is learnt,

the bitter saliva swallowed with pride,

the cardinal tongue for all lovers,

when vocal language could not  possibly suffice,

the ornate jewel in each throat,

now shush.