There had been a robot once in me. However now I know that I have ceased to be so. A man has to have something in him when he has resolved to take resort to do nothing. Out of doing nothing only the greatest thougths of humanity are created, the fabulous love and passion have woven their measures, the greatest discoveries are made, the greatest inventions are fashioned...and thus out of doing nothing man has come closer to God with its exceptional faculty of intellect.
Robinson Crusoe and his Island of Despair are the best instances of lonelineiss in one hand in the realm of fictions while on the other, in real, as every man ages, he becomes alone and more alone finally attempting to take plunge into a piousness to seek a fast salvation and making every attempt in the name of God to prepone death.
Death is no easy. Sylvia Plath knew it well, and so very well that it has really been amazing if a human being consciously falls in love with the attempts of suicide so that Death is seen from the closest perspectives through the mind, then recover only to recollect those memories from the deepest corners of the mind for creation of the most beatiful feelings that talk about human life and death...the reason to live and the reason to die.
The delirium these experiences create and are transcended into words with the critical psychedlia, is nothing but something that makes one feel that in every cell of its being there is some impetous, some humane force which had some meaning to live and to die, too, without it.
A lonely man gets stronger with his freedom of uninterrupted thoughts that do not relate to the mundane world around.
If anything makes a lonely man weak, is his feeling of love. A true-love which has no earthly bounds, which has not signed any mutual social bond that overpowers the indiviadual feeling, neither does it possess any individual rightfulness to be acclaimed. It turns out to be such a deep feeling that it becomes enough reason to live, however lucrative Death may look like or present itself....everyday...every moment.
And when this blissful feeling is showered upon a lonely man, he is no more alone as his weakness turns out to be his strength to live on over death. And with such power the man becomes a fool...fool to be loved...fool to love...fool to be blind...fool to be enslaved...and above all, fool enough to live to endure and sustain all the poignancies, to hold on to what he is blessed with.
It happens once in a lifetime only, sooner or later....not with everyone, but with the chosen luckiest ones who aspire to live the rest of the life being a fool, and not a man.
