Existing with evanescing effectuality and being misfit in the changing script of this causal drama demand stern costs.
With every eloping jiffy of clock, you manage to receive lancinating incisions and self-depreciating vindication of ‘good-for-nothing’ conviction.
The insouciant noesis towards worldly existence and dégagé prospect for somatic changes mark no easy occupation to be in.
The innermost voice hidden in the unseen alleys of the inner world feels muffled, failing to penetrate the density of aquatic bindings of the Mâyâ-ridden ocean.
A cautious and supposedly well-managed theft of a worldly joyous moment stigmatizes a debit of Brobdingnagian value.
The loan quadruples with every bite.
Beyond the inconceivable reach of mental leap lies a clear vision. It is fundamental, most-authentic yet ducks even the sincerest and the hardest conviction.
Absence of desire or existence of hope does not help.
Traveling in a coal-engine Express Train without strap-hangers is the lot and story in question–being tossed in-and-out is the scene.
The trade of gaining and losing is limited: It can’t cross the threshold of corporeal existence, therefore, carries inconsiderable weight.
The demotic expression of feelings loses its immediate value when the curtain falls.