Skip to main content

Justice: My Strange Friend

I am writing here to express my life experience regarding justice, which has been not so soothing experience over the years. Justice is not, as per my cognitive capability, a fact to be deciphered through senses. Justice is not an idea which is so complete. Substantially, justice is not a concept which is fundamental in defining the building blocks of human’s life. Justice, rather, is an arbitrary expectation on the part of subject, which sometimes remains internally encaged within the ethical verses of an ego, other times, it appears as an expectation in due course of societal behaviors and relationships. Justice is painted as a sacred desire which appears to be sacrosanct in limine, however, with the passage of age all the sacred dreams are shattered and an innocent mind, who was happy under some hallucinated reality, suffers from irretrievable breakdown. From there only, justice appears to be a dead concept. Might appears at site, the true law of nature; a real law of society. Justice for a privileged one is to protect that privilege. Justice for a rich one is cause impoverish human conditions for others for the sake of relative richness to be preserved for perpetuity. 

Humans are by nature the laziest being on the planet, compromised its capacity to be ferociously just in desire of leisure and pleasure. For they have created a myth of order and security. What is so stable and secure, except putrefaction of spirit and energy? Dogmatic leap of humans has doomed their fate. They have been cursed for their capacity to justify each sin, committed against enfeebled animals and plants. Justice remains as a utopian dream in the mind of virtuous soul, once that sleep is disturbed, reality is here; a treacherous person can earn money and respect in human’s society. A virtuous sentient being is bound to suffer from the merciless extermination of profound wisdom. In fact, justice is inaccessible when one cries for its majestic effects. Justice is accessible only through the voice of mightiest. Machiavelli’s poisonous philosophy reminds me the real world, when he writes, “It is better to be feared than to be loved”. (Machiavelli, The Prince). Only power, cruel power is the reality. Justice is a legitimate mask which justifies the dominance over weak. Justice is an act of labeling to exclude the the fruit from a labeled obnoxious tree. Virtue is a Christian value which has caused the ferociousness of human’s animality! You take every foundation of justice; every edifice is a sheer result of "politics of power" and the exclusion of enfeebles. 

Justice must be liberated from a dogmatic belief that it is achievable by anyone. It must be emancipated from the semantics politics of hegemons. In a world of hyper-reality what else could be expected from the fox, except treacherous demands, and insincere commitments!

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

पिरोता जाऊँ एक माला ज़िन्दगी का

पढ़ता हूँ हर एक दिन एक ही पन्ना, हर दिन हज़ार ये मालूम पड़ते हैं। जबसे होश संभाला है एक ही पन्ना सवांरते आया हूँ, लोग इसे ज़िन्दगी कहते हैं। इसपे लिखे हर एक लब्ज़ जो मेरे मालूम पड़ते हैं, ना जाने कितने जुबां पे चढ़े होंगे। आज हम भी कुछ पल के लिए ही सही इसके सारथी हैं, जाने से पहले कुछ रंग मेरा भी इसपे चढ़ जाए, बस इसीलिए एक ही पन्ना बार बार पलटता रहता हूँ। हर कोई अनजाने किताब की तलाश में बाहर निकलता है, जिसका हर एक पन्ना वो ख़ुद है। जब ख़ुद के रंग को समझ ही ना पाया, तो भला इंद्रधनुषी किताब के क्या मायने हैं? अस्तित्व में ना जाने कितने पन्ने बिखरे पड़े हैं, बस एक से ही अवगत हो जाऊँ, उसके हर एक शब्द को चुनता जाऊँ, कुछ पल के लिये सही, पिरोता जाऊँ एक माला ज़िन्दगी का।
1 comment
Read more

Time and Love

Time passes by Like moving in a train of thoughts Its sequence is always forward Vibrating like a cosmic dance of Shiva Time is creating and engulfing The little waves of the ocean Going where? Nobody knows Like a dream does not have a destination It is as true as any absurd play With friends of pleasure It moves like speed of light With friends of need It is felt like a moving river Allowing a little moments of thoughts Before everything becomes a history With friends of virtue Time becomes a sublime touch Soothing and healing the pain Becoming a spectator To watch the cries and follies Beauty and ugliness The rainbow of joy And an album of suffering Time touches Yet it remains aloof Like Purush is witnessing The colours of prakriti Yet remains unblemished And untouched The union of two is always mystical Their touch is a source Of creation and transformation Time is witnessing everything In its sequential movements Who is witnessing time? What is independent of the originatio...
Post a Comment
Read more

Dreamer

Empty is mirror, Yet it reflects what is. Chit is absolute abyss, Yet it contains the existence, Like unending horizons of sky. Chit in bond with manas, Creates and witnesses, The playful dance of life. Shunyata is the absolute truth, Yet it is all of the possible worlds. Out of its voidness, World appears and disappears. Is it real or unreal? Or merely the Dream, Of all the possible dreams? If it is the case, Who is dreaming, the dreams of all? The One, the Cosmos. What if the One is also a figment of imagination? What if the world is a poetic creation? And the Poet has deployed itself, In every form of poetry? The poetry of life. What if only bhokta is bhojan? Only observer is observed? Only worshiper is worshipped? Only subject is object? All are the waves of same Ocean.
Post a Comment
Read more