Arcadia? Utopia? Dystopia?

Arcadia.

Utopia.

Dystopia.

The words just felt awesome as they rolled off his tongue. It was as though he could taste the sprightly fullness of every word, the textural richness and phonetic melody.

Words are just words. Arrangements of alphabets and -

No, wait, they aren't just mathematical permutations of alphabets. There are histories to every word, shades of meanings that meandered through the course of time. Yes, words are more beautiful than just being words.

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As Evan casted his vision about the wrought landscape, he felt a flutter of anxiety. Marina Barrage was the epitome of modern living, twin circles of carpet grass interlocking and inviting. Sprays of fountain waters arced gracefully through shallow pools of glistening waters. Lamps - yellow, white and all other shades in between - accentuate the curvilinear forms of bronze sculptures. It looked like the very Arcadia.

Wondrous, idyllic. Serene.

Then, he thought. Not really an Arcadia, perhaps more of an Utopia. Arcadia would mean absolute equality in an idyll while an Utopia has an overlord ensuring universal peace. Indeed, the term Utopia might be more apt. An overlord, hmmm.

He was more satisfied but the peace was not lasting. Dancing confluences of moving air brushed across his face and brought coolness, laced paradoxically with stirrings of unease.

The landscape of buildings afar formed an imposing concrete jungle. Not Utopian at all. Silent cries flowed - poignant, palpable, yet ignored. Human condition manifested in the ugliest manner in tall, shining skyscrapers. Urban dystopia.

His friends called out to him. Time to leave for home. Evan stood up, posed for some photos, threw away two bags of rubbish and strands of unacknowledged thoughts.