Turn, turn, merry-go-round
This melody’s started
And there’s no way it’s stopping now
“Do not go gentle into that good night
Old age should burn and rave at close of day,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
That’s how I learned to lessen my ego at last. It cringed me out to the last bit, not because of indisputable salute to Dylan’s wit in choosing an intricate villanelle French verse for his poem “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night”, but to the dark and gloomy sound of it, to the meaning of it for the utmost reason. I came to know the poem from the movie, Interstellar, he made it as a symbolic love and respect or ode to his father, his struggling for a living to the last bit of his breath before he had his last day off on earth because of a disease he had long beared. More or less, it gave me a moral grit, for my inquiry of true happiness, what it meant to lead a meaningful life or to be a man of value and of finding the very soul’s twin flame. The latter, seemed to always got me mystified.
“‘The heart wants what it wants – or else it does not care, does it?” A serene melodious echo snapped right at my frontal lobe. Along with it a blast of million butterflies spinning altogether in my stomach –and I assumed happily performing their trademark circling and twisting dance. My head in total bleak all of a sudden.
“Just stop it, you butterflies brat!”
Too much fun to stop, so painful it rendered me pathetic
On a morning like that it was born, my own kind of love song