After such time, the aches, the weariness seeps into the body, wrapping onto bones and generating the lethargic shroud of oblivion. Nay, can I not say that many times I wish, feverishly seek a retirement in a realm free from troubles.
Weakness, as I move from one center of population to another, as most commonly I find the faces of the poor, riddled with languor and burnt by the elements.
Despite the modernised cravings of high-society, that lust to see monuments spiral to the heavens, and the advancement of life, the cost is truly great. Beggary, hideous to the sensibility of the upper class, a contempt built to ward the people living in ruin; eagerly wanting them to be invisible or simply to disappear.
But, the damned, won’t. They survive, without healthcare, without shelter, without nourishment and definitely without the touch of class and sophistication. Basic rights, theirs as dictated by the supreme law of their realm, are fleeting glimpse into loss; they survive on sheer force of will, or on the sustenance of their decaying dreams.