When asked to draw a picture of a farmer ploughing his field in the dawn with fresh drops of sweat making it’s presence felt, and his sickle making the sand dance, my thoughts sickened to an end before I began thinking if imagination is more important than knowledge. What if I don’t know what a sickle looks like, for instance?
So drunk in darkness are we today, if a candle of bright thoughts sneak our brains, we stare away from the intensity of newness that has entered. Nobody wishes to hear the rhythm that life brings about. Nobody wishes to dance away all the bitterness that ponds amongst the banks of negligence. We don’t wish to step, even make a positive call. Lack of imagination takes over as a protagonist of a willfully meaningless story.
When the groups are assembled to practice an ambition, is it a legitimate preposition to approve of the inaccuracy of group to attain a certain goal by being the sole doer? Why fit in when you are born stand out! Imagine the doers in the world…. Do you have any knowledge about them?
Clearly one could sense there’s a serious foulness at play, but you walk in and out as you please. Imagine the level of courtesy the group members possess that they tolerate you as one of their own!
Why need to imagine the distinction of thoughts that I have brought together in this piece of writing if it’s already there in it’s truest form. One must not shy away form stitching these thoughts as all are entitled under one idea: imagination.
Imagine some more meaningless thoughts beyond this full stop.
Talking of favourites, it differs as does the choice perpetuating out of tributaries of human thoughts. No matter what, everyone loves a gift. Yes, but does it matter?
I recall an event from the prologue of my past. It was asking for a gift of an angular pen which gets its name and point of attraction from slightly titled nib of its on the occasion of my birthday. Eventually I received the same with same surprised expression if otherwise if it would have been unknown to me. I could see my eyes glittering with happiness on the mirror adjacent to me as I held this pen closer to my heart.
Next day, I couldn’t find the pen anywhere. Nor was in the group of gifts that I’d got nor was it in the “special box” where I used to store the most precious and beautiful commodities of mine safely!
It was visceral reminder of the fact that I may also lose things even the most delighted ones to some mysterious turn of events. Anyways, pens are so that would’ve been proven worthier if I could I shown off to my friends or I would’ve received full marks out of the test!
This story is vague in the sense of providing a moral, I accept that. But to the readers, I may put a gentle reminder of accepting what’s available right now. I would’ve cried to the verge of making my parents buy me a pack of similar pens. But that wasn’t about it.
Everyone loves a gift. Only the fortunate receive what they desired for. All that matters if you make use of the gift in whatever sense you use it for. You have the freedom to attach the “gift” of today’s story with life as well!