Saturday, March 01, 2008

The Epitaph of Imagination

Imagination is dying.The fleeting sense of possibility that was once celebrated is now bowing down to the world's obsession with reality. What would have once made poingant fiction will now sell only under the banner of 'a really poingant memoir'. If Oscar Wilde lamented over 'The Decay of Lying', I will lament the death of imagination itself. Here's an epitaph that I hope will be fitting enough when imagination gets its final blow.

Here lies imagination.
Friend to the lonesome,
Foe to the irksome,
Saviour of fiction
And Antidote to bad writing.
Rest till you are resurrected
By those deserving of your living presence.


Shamit Bagchi said...

Hey Bunu, you've captured well what you think, but what makes you think thus ...

La Diva! said...

Contemporary fiction.

ankita anand said...

They may say you're a dreamer
But you are not the only one