Man’s adolescence

Aren’t we delightfully hypocrite?
We claim spots in the sky to pin our dreams as constellations, and then we worship those reverently, with a twisted kind of piousness, secretly hoping that others would become our priests (or priestesses, as the case may be).
We pretend with hidden arrogance that the essence of our thoughts is superior to that of the flight of birds, though birds mastered heights long before we even dared to gaze with dilated pupils to what we thought was the realm of gods.
We chant hymns and raise monuments for the preciousness of “man” and his achievements, while, in a completely illogical antagonism, with each passing day, “man” fails at being human.
We hide behind words, proclaiming with pride our kinship with them, though so often words could recant us, treating us for what we really are – meager seeds of spirit in pots of flesh, still searching with clumsiness for the right path towards light.
We step, blind and deaf, on the bones of time, feeling them crack under the weight of our already lost innocence and not yet acquired maturity, randomly recycling messiahs and glorifying our inability to not need redeemers anymore.
This is us. The “explorers”, thirsty for knowledge, but barely able to crawl from one discovery to the next. We crave power and wealth, and we roar like lions behind the barricade of ignorance, but wine like babies when reality scratches our conscience. It’s for that wining that Pandora’s myth was born, to shield us from the fear of the unknown.
And yet at night it’s still the sun that lights our lives, even if only through the lunar mirror, and it’s still curiosity that pushes us deeper and deeper into the unknown. So I guess that, until mankind will have overcome the puberty phase, midnight rants like this one are meant to be served with a grain of salt.



© Liliana Negoi


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