Their idleness, aimless and languid airs.

Which is more tragic? Robespierre in bishop's robes pleading for clemency at the glistening blade of the guillotine, or Bukowski's life affirming gravestone, on which is carved the following epitaph: 'Don't Try'

It is not the perennial search for meaning,
For one could substantiate otherwise.
All of humanity's meandering precepts- conscience, morality, taboo and religion
Palette upon palette of colours and flavors
And in today's urban circus, wears it dull shine with shame.

Which is more tragic that we can no longer quantify tragedy?