|Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all. |
- Emili Dickinson
Hope, to me, is more than a great expectation. We do not expect our situations to improve, given the adverse conditions that prevail in our surrounding. Yet we do hope. We hope to have a better future where we do not live in any fear, where we do not need to be chained to the rhythms of desires, where peace and harmony prevails, where rays of sun meet the turbulence of water to effuse golden sparkles.
Hope to me is thus more than a great expectation.
Yet we are vulnerable to salesman's tactics. A professional and adroit salesman knows how to exploit the hope mechanism inbuilt within us. The seller of hopes has a machine invented specially for this purpose.
The machine can be deemed to be a perpetual working machine. That is, it keeps on working without having to provide any extra source of energy.
Except, there will never be a perpetual machine! The machine, hope initiator, extracts the energy required to drive its machinery from the vulnerable beings. It draws every last bit of juice from them until they die hoping for a better future. But then, who cares a penny for the dead?
Everyone expects the machine to be working, but who cares from where it gets its energy to compensate for the losses; the losses needed by any machine to get the work done. Who cares?