November 9th, 2009
Seven Pounds
The heart knows no hiatus. It grows in silence. It is unaware of succession. It doesn't question. It helplessly beats for reasons unknown to the bearer, or it may be devoid of reason at all. Hence is associated with insanity, madness, blindness, folly. But something so beautiful and transcendental would definitely not be a product of stupidity. It is there. It exists. It is felt. It tries hard not to deceive its bearer. Resistance and denial only make a moron out of its bearer. It doesn't suggest profoundness. Happiness ought to be simple. Otherwise, only a few could afford understanding the meaning of joy.