The need to write

Is it a need, a compulsion or an obligation that i have to fulfil?

you think you have an idea????? well i've got news for you.......so do 6 billion other people on this planet.
now the question is, why would you think you are different from any of them?

some might say its the company that induces one to think or perhaps its the peer group that influences one into thinking or is it the way the this patriarchal system works that impregnates ideas.......well whatever the reason might be, it works.

One has to be genius to come up with something brilliant in total solitude without being influenced whatsoever by anything around him that actually gets wide recognition.
Good ideas in well knit societies are commonplace, brilliant ideas on the other hand are a rarity, but not as impressive as ones a supposedly socio-path might come up with.
Its one thing to be given the parts of a puzzle and asked to complete it and another to come with the entire puzzle itself......thats the true genius that needs to be appreciated.

Imagine a world where everything in copyrighted right down to the smallest detail and the slightest imitation of any detail of it punishable by death
every single automobile had to be unique, every house or anything that one can think of had to be one of a kind....sure it would tremendously retard the rate of progress but the progress that we do make will be in giant leaps
and the best part would be everyone would have to contribute and not just leech

The Ring

I see a ring,
a ring that encompasses all,
comprehensive of all the thoughts and people and pleasures,
the dark ring precedes the corona,
if not, most would be lost forever.

Everything has its place,
no matter how much one begs to differ, he's still a part of the system,
only the enlightened souls(and the mad men) reach the girdle,
everyone strives for it with a basic idea of it in their heads,
they reach out to emptiness,
the darkness within them averts their dreams, tainting them.

Inception

All that was needed was a trigger to set the bullet in motion,
the burst of entropy far more potent than the strongest of the nuclear warheads,
strong enough to manifest itself on reality,
blurring the face of the maniac with his grasp around the cold steel trigger,
dreams so complex, they start to make sense and seem almost a bore.

A pledge to never go back,
lock away everything that needs to be forgotten,
not in a door-less room, but a miniature glass ball,
seemingly too small but withholding more than i could dream up in a lifetime,
the alarming attention to detail,
the smoothness, the impeccable shape and the immaculate gloss and colour,
it seduces you to grasp it in your palms, but its touch impalpable,
once inside, only the essence can seep out,but never the thought itself.
It reflects everything and yet its dark,
could be shattered but not without dire consequences...