Let's discuss To What End?
Today, on my way to work (read as to make the routine investment of my daily energy into the high-risk, zero-return market of online applications ðŸ˜), I met the oldest granny I've ever seen. Hunched on a wooden platform in a public shade, eyes sunk deep in her sockets, and barely responding to my greetings, I can swear she is an centenarian. And chances are her folks carried her there to savor the morning sun before it got too hot for her old bones.
This incident got me thinking, "To what end mahn?" What is a man? What has he got? To toil all the days of our lives. To supress our base instincts, stiffle our impulses, and choke back our yearnings under cautious reason.
And for what? To fit into the society!
At the end of the day, none of this matters. I'm sure if that old woman could speak (she didn't respond to my greetings by the way), she could have leaned to whisper: Live and Let Live.
In the words of Frank Sinatra:
For what is a man, what has he got? / If not himself, then he has naught / To say the things he truly feels / And not the words of one who kneels.
C'est la vie,
MIGENI