Why is it that childhood was so sweet,
summer so bright,
and grass so green.
When was it that childhood was taken over by a mad rush to grow up.
And a mad rush to be what you dream to be.
And then when you walk along the path towards your dream, suddenly you crave for the careless times, eating mangoes in the summer, wearing nothing but a tattered dress.
Why, is it that in this mad race do we forget to actually LIVE, as it were. Those moments of pure bliss are rare, if they occur at all that is. And the smile fades away and frowns take over almost as if the smile is an evil notion.
It’s a crime, they say, to stop. One must constantly work and run and sweat. But then, when to recover? When to heal? Is ignorance truly the need of the hour? Or rather the need of an entire lifetime?
I'd someday like to meet the one who spreads such philosophies. And over a warm cuppa tea, ask him when was it that he formed the ideas that rule our minds today. For I believe (or so it seems logical) it really can’t be when he lived in ignorance.
