THE SOPHIST

My name says it all! The truth? I don’t know; and when you don’t know Sophistry is the most comfortable refuge. When I look inside I see confusion, when I look outside I only see that confusion confounded!! Somebody said, “It is better to travel with hope than to arrive". I am traveling, with or without hope; I am passing through time and through space and through people. The journey has been a tumble...from one idea to another, from one ideology to another, from confusions to conceptions, and again from conceptions to confusions. The destination was important initially, but slowly it became a blur, and now it has blended with the journey and is lost to the roads. When I look back, I see nothing in the distance, but only a ubiquitous haze which has sucked in the torturous and winding roads I left behind; that haze has somehow put me into a cocoon of nothingness. In this nothingness I find celebration. I find hope. It allows me to create anew. It allows me to travel again. I am ready for another adventure, yet another quest which is doomed to fail: to wind up the winding roads to confusion.

And in the end I ask the same question--only much more vehemently--that I asked in the beginning: What am I? Formless matter or Matter less form? And something that was a sigh in the beginning turns into a groan: Rudderless my flight, Hold me tight!

Warning: The words of a Sophist are not to be taken seriously.