WORDS OF ACCOUNTABILITY

I don't know if it's a crime or just a hoax, but here I am in a hidden corner of the world where I've been watching a million and one years of a gutting, bustling, populous, strange herd of people. Alas, it is not what it once was: when the writer was the poet's orator against Fate and Destiny. Now each one bends and bends this way and that according to his fancy. Men's mean and dark souls are a bloody, pitch-black velvet, like the shroud of death, and would not help the fallen or the crippled once!

I do not know whether it was a sin, or merely a coward's fear of faith, when in my naive blindness I would have loved in and around myself a Separate Peace, harmony, found Happiness, and in my haste I would not have been alarmed by the horns of cars, the cursing, vomit-sitting speech of motorists. The frost is slowly falling on my grey, dove-grey head As I approach forty, and it would be good if sanity and the grimace of reason-born admonition could still be mine.

Some of them have become stones of indifference, into which people like me can stumble, but let them fall, saying: there is no need for free thinkers now, just as there is no need for philosophers!