Megalomaniacs

I see all those refugees, they cavort about like peasants looking for a getaway. They do not see me, I’m just a bunch of pieces put together doltishly, just a figure sitting in insularity. I don’t crave for the iodised sea shore, the waves come and go, at night is when the shores and the waves achieve their love. I am not looking for it, yet, the idea of it causes my soul to quiver, something I can’t help but notice. All these animals are carrying glasses of champagne, looking like a page from a fashion brochure, but, they don’t see it. Running after something foolishly, like lizards trying to catch the flying squirrel, failing miserably every time. 

They have no idea that I am up here, graciously standing in my kingdom, this kingdom I’ve built and torn and built and torn over the past two decades. My personal masterpiece – helps disguise me from the constant commotion they are so accustomed to, they feel like it is their forte to pick up summer smelling, better sexes all the time. I, on the other hand, am planting seeds in the fields and then pissing on them, before burning the field altogether. I am just a figure of speech.

I see them screaming on the television screens as well, they have spread almost as quickly as forest fire. I see them grinding their teeth at the thought of being friends with someone, how will they misuse the knife that they store? I see them screaming their ideas of nationalism and shoving them down our throats, muting everybody else, their thoughts are the only thoughts. Their despotism is enlightened in the same way the thoughts of a small man were in the 1940’s. 

They do not see me, for I am just a fragment of their imagination that grew up to gigantic proportions, I live in them and they try to suppress me. I am that very sentence that they know they shouldn’t expatiate, but, I am always pounding at the back of their throats, letting them know I’m still here. While they load up their canons, I am the thought that lingers in the back of their minds, letting them know I’m still here. 

They are just Megalomaniacs.

Image – Pieter Bruegel The Elder’s “The Blind Leading the Blind” (1568)

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