Heavy eyes, bewildered dreams and an empty stomach

You hear of great stories in the most glorious settings. The one who never fails, the over-achiever and has the admiration of the usual folks. It slowly spreads to friends, families and to superficial people who momentarily bask in reflected glory.

The popular vote; a self proclaiming narcissist of burgeoning addiction in achieving attention, reaping off others’ self-esteem and worth. Never insolent in feelings, and the lack of empathy towards friends who suffer in silence proves that the tantamount of self-belief and confidence hits above the ceiling.

An almost satire, gratingly toxic manner silently pitch in one’s behaviour.

I used to hear my Grandpa say, “the basic virtues of being a human is to feel empathy and act if you must, on modesty.”

The humility, perceived in the earnest approach, is to show empathy and when presented with compliments, to act modestly. If ever you find yourself in a better position than someone who is in tatters, proceed in the advent of good faith.

That faith I have lost, to the Machiavellian nature of people. If so it resembles a narcissist, a demagogue, that no matter what tête-à-tête is engaged it remains incoherent. The massive facade that had enfolded in front of us; a treacherous journey he had gone through by berating the ‘lesser’ humans, and gaining support from the silent liberals and the band-wagon middle class.

Shakespeare’s Richard III, Henry IV, Part III

I can add colours to the chameleon,
Change shapes with Proteus for advantages,
And set the murderous Machiavel to school.

Not a greater good the world need, but an overly-pompous and self-admire narcissist. The silence of suffering.

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