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OSTRICH

 Her  restlessness knew no reason yet it was intense. Nothing diverted her. The opaque  sky couldn't filter the cool shades of the spring Sun ...the smog smothered it. Perhaps this annoyed her so she drew the thick curtains to block the dismal light.   

Her eyes meandered around the objects in her room ,they were the mere  objects  now having lost the lustre of their youthful era. 'Era ' no doubt since it seemed decades when she had  fretted over them, their quality and their cost which attracted the envious eyes of her friends. Before her now , beamed the  big screen of the t.v. It  was blaring  the routine 'breaking -news 'of the pre election crescendo .The mushrooming of parties made it difficult to discriminate among them. She could only hear the blabbering voices of the myriad  groups  and  those of  budding  anchors of the  vastly sprouting channels  which  were  always at loggerheads in the madding race to topple one another. To her, for a moment , they all turned to  puppets  of  jerking heads sounding  afar from some alien planet.

 A cool breeze crossed her as her subconscious mind  brought to surface  what Socrates  had said of death when Plato and his other followers  were lamenting as he lay dying. Socrates  consoled them  and said that to him  death was  immaterial ,the real death for him was the death of  the  man's  curiosity and the absence of  searching souls. She could feel some  respite in it.

So ,then ,should she tread backwards in time and be  an ostrich  to find her own  soul feed! 

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