Burn the dictionaries
They reek of ambiguity
Whenever I want definite answers
I am not talking of things
Things are themselves
Whatever one might call them
The words being just
A convenient reference.
If any confusion hovers,
I see, I hear, I smell
or taste and touch well
and once I know them,
I know what the word means
because it means them.
What actually puzzles me are
those things, oh not things
But whatever they are
In the creases of doors ajar
Love, friendship, Emotion
Life, Happiness, Ambition
Individuality, idealism, divinity,
Freedom, truth, meditation,
Ethics, desire, mystique and so on
Whatever I take them to be from here on
They turn out to be something else
My mouth has turned so sour. Like
Love is care, commitment, forgiveness
Then I discovered possession,
Space cringes, romance, cheating and pain
Life is beautiful and ugly
Some bright guys say it’s vain
By default; discover your meaning
That left the bishop constantly fretting
He said there was a purpose, God’s.
On Friendship, I read several quotes
Suggesting sharing, helping and affection
but it was tinted with envy
Doused in many a practical concern
Even truth was not absolute
It was relative and manipulative.
Happiness was the most evasive -
Being in the moment, love and care,
Pursuing your dream or crude pleasure
Serving humanity or spontaneity.
The grim mystics and the philosopher
Exhale clouds putting it all to subjectivity
Then when some schmuck
Comes with those airs of certainty
And talks of literal meaning
I wish I could fire him.
What meaning do I take,
Meanings mean these things
From which vagueness springs,
Rendering the meanings meaningless.
So much more in societies
which go on wandering aimless,
Although walking ahead -
Since we don’t walk backwards -
But in which direction, no clue they had
And they have stopped caring
Some routines they keep murmuring
And caution about not thinking much
That's why I speak such
That let's burn the dictionaries
Because they reek of ambiguity
Whenever I want definite answers.
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