Random_Thoughts

I want to serve my soul, Food without spices whole. I have savoured the flavoured, In fancy dishes, served with bland wishes. I am on detoxify diet, This time, I will dine light, To satisfy my heart's delight.  What is your choice? Raw or spiced flaw!

I met my first batch, Of Year 2000 on virtual catch. I was one and twenty then, A teacher with experience nil. Two decades and an year odd, Those sweet sixteens then, now in mid thirties. That boy with dyslexia, Is now a proof reader with print. The damsel who broke many hearts, With her Binaca smile is a cop. The nerd who never ever nodded, Is the hero of the leading soap-opera. The one who ran last in the Sunday race, Chases the enemy in the battle race. Thirty faces reached in their thirties. Guesstimating still, as I used to in my twenties.

Take a break, if it helps you not break. Try to pause rather stop. Extrovert in you can steal introvert. Disconnect, if it is the heal and feel. Stop the business of credit and debit, Of emotions and appeals to the frozen account. Enjoy the numbness of this phase, Let ill-disguised rain drops flow on face.

If neglecting you is freedom, Let them enjoy the new wisdom. If holding tight brings them discomfort. Let them be free for the sake of comfort. If winning them is a game ever lost, Let them lose you, winning their knotted thought. Like sand, relations slip when squeezed. Hold them loosely and they won’t be creased. Don’t wail for the chapter to complete, Tired like twilight, there is no strength to compete.

Chopped down trees breeze, Half-naked in the autumn breeze. Whispered these from the withered leaves: “Armed with axe, why men look perplexed?” Wobbling branch of a rippled tree, Cackled at the hapless and proclaimed: “Karma, the thugs preached and breached.” Tree line still in the restless wind. Axed tress belly laughed at men with axe. Pall bearers fail to please the corpses. Axe ill- used the wood. Roles swap and crematoriums slap. Like bodies without soul, dead depart without wood. Dead delve into infinite horizons without hood.

Flooded Ganga, this monsoon. With mortals, free of gloom. Caste, colour, gender or race, Seldom served the criteria in this place. Fatigued Ganga stuffed with dead. Its nectar is all red. Ganga shivers at the crack of dawn. Bulged bodies meet and moan. Like lost lovers, they float across. At last crows and dogs ease the bodies. Restless bodies thank the vultures. Dead breathe with relief.  They tease the Ganga bed in red. Ah! We are free from bonds of living dead.