The End Game

The world is not a wish-granting factory. When we repeat something constantly, it starts to lose its meaning and sounds like a noise. And here, people like Cliff learn how futile it is to disturb the universe with the trumpet's clarion call. Hence, this game has no rules. It takes one to be Prufrock; with his sad natural intelligence of the selftaught to identify the cruel steel traps of life which awaits in the end. How often do we fall in a soup of complexities that we judge through selfish eyes. We be in a questioning as to why things didn’t commence the way which gives us pleasure. The constant self-obsessive gratification of our demanding conscious cause trouble with our lives. We often run inside our created dream to escape from the clutches of our reality. The dance of the critically wounded mis-happenings perforates the very fabric of life and relationships. Thus, we all escape to this game to exhale the hardships we don’t dare elucidate. What is the solution? We escape. We escape our fantasy and use our doomed reality as the very foundation stones.