The slum inside a palace

 

A broken doorway. But the interior of the house still safe, welcoming and cozy. In contrast, an illustrious, ornate, imposing gateway, aglitter with form, design, authority, shiny paint and much-much more. But the interior broken, stale, unwelcoming, hitting you in the face with its unfriendliness. That’s how most of the people are, the latter category I mean. Brand new clothes, stylish haircuts, designer glasses, costly perfumes, fat attitudes, sophisticated looks, illustrious footwear, daunting language—massively adorned gateways to their personality. All focus on the superficial, introductory gateway to the their self; entire energy and resources spent on the surface varnish. But the interior—the real self—poor and neglected. The door of a palace enclosing a slum within. They would hit you with selfish venom at the littlest provocation. The first category are rare individuals—a poor-looking door protecting a palace inside. An oasis in the desert. Soulful. With a loving, healing presence. It needs mother nature to have thousands of the other type of people to bloom, nurture, protect one such person.