Tedium of the times - I

A fetid fruit of tedious listless life Ye seldom troubled at the dawn of time, But under today’s skies ye prevail rife And plague many poor souls in pink of prime. If thy hoary hist’ry offers fair hint, Ye look no old— a few young centuries, But brisk ye now march as if life is sprint, Look at thy boredom’s unfolding stories. Not known so well by thy today’s ill name, But men alone seem to be thy victims— Men like stray clouds oblivious of their aim, Ye plague them more who pursue pallid dreams. As poet Kent had once so lamented: Had Adam and Eve stayed put in heaven, They’d have got bored sooner than ever had On earth known as the land of thankless fun. With scores of Twiddle-dos and Twiddle-dees, And few things of core value to follow, Tonight’s envy no more the next dawn sees, Few things can hold on man’s mind till t’morrow. Ye descend, and meaning of life gets lost, In front of goal, one feels utterly strained, Pursuit of life becomes when empty boast, Man does, but never his dullness gets drained. I have not so to do, no one to meet, Nowhere to reach, no one for me awaits, Such helplessness many a man may greet, Time passes not, elapses all the dates. When unfolding life’s wrapped in dark shadow, Man’s very mien melts, stares like blank page, Life’s meaning shifts from solid to shallow, His soul has gone, his corpse seized in a cage. ____________________________________________ Ode | 05.03.2023 |