The Rotten Lotus

 

Downtown was bursting with festivities, alit with a multitude of brilliant colours. By the time I returned from my evening walk, the sky was a shade of purple I hadn’t seen before. I passed by restaurants and bars and people on the street, like a ghost invisible to all. I saw through the windows people having awkward conversations with their dates, youngsters drinking and teasing each other with bawdy jokes, old couples walking hand in hand silently, and what a sight it was! For a brief moment I thought I witnessed utopia.

But then around the corner, I saw a poor man, shivering, lying on the footpath, an old man playing the guitar in the freezing cold and a madman lifting finger toward the heavens cursing God. And all of a sudden, a desire to drink the poison of sadness of the entire world came over me; to take upon myself, the burden of strangers, friends and foes alike. But when has ever a single man saved the world from its misery? I felt Kafka tap on my shoulder and smile, it was enough for me to know that he understood me.

© The Flowers of Art