Luck Charms or Labour Well Spun

A mad rush, the world seems to be in. Around you are things happening to people, for people, with people. While we sit in a malaise like state, ogling all the happenings of others, wondering why them and not I, we find ourselves in some places of blessed mercy and some that remain prayers unanswered. The lives of those achieving goals - from our distance - seem to be going smooth and alright, those lost amidst/from suffering; sad, desolate, futile, and for those whom luck seems to favour in all the right ways, we hold a glimmer of envy since our own seems devoid of favours such. While we linger and lament, or tread and pine, we must remind ourselves that what we see is from an imperfect lens - and that is the truth. Our focal point is hardly three dimensional and a complete picture asides from our own, is impossible. While time seems to be set on a speeding mission in some ways for a few, it holds the ability to be just that impervious for some others, and entirely dead yet still for some more. Therefore the rush that pervades our temporary being, is nothing but a mirage or a facade; like a second waiting to become bygones or an hour set in stone. And in a trick like form of time's such makings, these musings at random, I type on 'un-honed'.