an essay on some verses of the Oscar Wilde poem-"Ballad of Reading Gaol"
|Love cannot be killed, but it makes so many victims. It cannot kill and it cannot die, “yet each man kills the thing he loves”.
People ask themselves how one can kill something that he loves. I don’t know the answer to that nor I want to, because I am one of the many to kill the things I love. Either dreams or friendships or expectations, they end up being thrown away when they start causing me pain. The most painful things aren’t the ones that cause physical pain. Material weapons can cause pain, but “the dead so soon grow cold” and the pain is temporary. But the unseen weapons, such as ignorance, greed, selfishness-pride- envy cause so much pain and the wounds are so deep that nothing will heal them. Even if one might think that “time heals every wound”, when something which caused pain happens again, those wounds will reopen and hurt even more.
I am the one that gives love, trust and affection for free, I get killed by the things I love and I kill the things I love. I am the one that does “the deed with many tears” and sometimes “without a sigh”. I “use a knife” so the pain will not last forever and the wounds will heal. I do it when I am young and I will do it when I am old. I will “do it with a bitter look” or “with a flattering word”; I will do it “with a kiss” and “with a sword”.
All my dreams and expectations will be killed as much as I will, over and over again, be killed ,“For each man kills the thing he loves/ Yet each man does not die”.