In the waiting, on the railroad platform, hoping on to the daily express with my life packed in boxes and suit cases.
Day-in and day-out I do this with optimism that one day, soon I will reach my manzal-e-maqsood.
Yet that day never seems to arrive, instead the drive to go on day after day, catching the same express rail, loading it with the same baggage diminishes, there are times one just wants to give up and run away from the daily race. Run up some mountain, run out to sea to a space where time has no meaning, where you can just be free of lifes responsibilities and worries.
But then the personal self kicks in, turning on that inner voice driven by egos whisper, enticing you with words of "future" fame and fortune. Thus prompting you out of bed each morning, under a self manifested illusition that today "I" will strike "Silicon".
The self is so fickle, so easily swayed, oscilating between high and low states of existance becuase of some inner voice called ego.
Where as nothing much changes, you continue to ride the daily express with all your baggage day-in and day-out to what end, to what means, to what destination continues to remain ellusive.
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