“There is something feeble and a little contemptible about a man who cannot face the perils of life without the help of comfortable myths. Almost inevitably some part of him is aware that they are myths and that he believes them only because they are comforting. But he dare not face this thought! Moreover, since he is aware, however dimly, that his opinions are not rational, he becomes furious when they are disputed.”
― Bertrand Russell, Human Society in Ethics and Politics
I will depart now,
To trudge along the lanes of
Lonely hearts and destitute dreams.
I will burn myself now
Through the pathos
And the venomous conflagration
Of ruthless revolt.
Chivalry benumbs me
Life presents some agony and scar
In this famished dusk of famine
What purpose do all these bouquets serve?
Why do we utter the words of solace
Strangling disdain in our bosom?
Some yearning for coldness and asperity
Still resides within me.
I don’t need this much glory, praise, recognition
Some anguish, scathe and rejections are also required.