The love for a symbol piggybacks a forced idea. Too much of ‘my-ism’ often falls victim to clichés of modern politics inside capitals and outside it. Education doesn’t serve when persuasion calls the shots. Lust never fails to enslave the moments. The progression of time is impotent. Its not that feet don’t need rest, eyes don’t need freedom from soot and tongue doesn’t relish sumptuousness. But the villain of ‘too far’ and ‘too high’ in collusion with cowardice of ‘too low’ amidst too much noise and cacophony knows too well how to have dead symbols planted on dead heads.
