Tedium of the times - II

Languor, an idle mind’s self-induced rot When meanings and motivations vanish, Wants no more, nor wishes, whys nor yet what, Not so kindles mind whose fires extinguish. The doom of not-what-so-happens descends To idle mind, no sin seems so evil As to be forbidden. A rare soul stands Up to turn creative by utter will. An oasis of green thoughts in desert That commands all the length and width, no height, And ye Tedium come to cut down the crest, Light up few lamps that can banish one’s blight. Thy only cure comes from one who’s curious Beyond cure to live up fuller and rife, Curiosity, a birthplace of genius Who’d rather die dead tired than live a dull life. To do same things demands duty’s dour call, Leads to boredom nor frustration’s red rage, A lot we do is routine and trivial, To do which and stay sage still calls courage. No man’s got bored seeing the same old Sun, No sage, in searching same essential truth, A routine can well be a lot of fun, It is a small mind that gets bored in youth. So, thou art a child but of recent birth, Man has lived for millennia without thee, Go afflict smaller minds of idle mirth, Not those that creatively curious be. ___________________________________________ Ode | 05.03.2023 |