| when hedonists yearn
In this poem, the writer expresses his plaintive cry for reason in an unreasonable world. The profundity of his call is entirely and succinctly condensed into the period that lies hopefully close, but never quite intimately, at the falling end of 'y'. Could he be whispering the word as he wrote it, or could it be a passing thought that briefly surfaces like a bubble in the torrent of everyday life, only to disappear before the arch of a question mark could rise majestically from the mysterious period? Nobody really knows. One thing here is consecrated truth : it is not a question, but an answer. There is a hint of a spirit of the serenity of something more than resignation of one's fate - acceptance. It leaves the reader marvelling at why, why did the poet not demand an answer, for he did not ask a question, nor shout it out as one might expect from the inner frustration that we vicariously experience with him as we read it, but mightily supress his unsprung coils of despair and limit the outstretch of hope with an exquisitely controlled output. We wonder. We ache. And then we begin to understand. Why.
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