“Feast of Lights: A Banarasi Sunrise”
#banaras #varanasi #varanasidiaries #varanasiphotography #varanasiindia #shivratri #mahashivratri2022 #shivratri🙏 #shiva #shivshambhu #poetry #painting #photography #creativity
“Feast of Lights: A Banarasi Sunrise”
#banaras #varanasi #varanasidiaries #varanasiphotography #varanasiindia #shivratri #mahashivratri2022 #shivratri🙏 #shiva #shivshambhu #poetry #painting #photography #creativity
Over dinner at the restaurant, at its ‘Happy Hour’,
we were jubilant to say the least – on Margaritas:
At a price of two we got four – ordered four more,
yet cointreau, lime juice, Tequila – a perfect mix.
Dislodging slices of lemon, from the glasses rim –
tasting salt on it, we gently squeeze lime juice in:
ingredients shaken well with ice, tingles tongues
spiced up with prawns, lamb, also fish n chips.
Our conversation light with drizzles of sadness –
to thaw frozen hearts it takes not many cocktails:
Stirring your soul where the past is a hurricane –
like lava hurt melts overflowing a brim of reason.
Night after we return for the ‘Happy Hour’ bonus –
they run out of cointreau to our disenchantment,
but as wells of sadness haven’t yet exhausted,
to infuse in it joy we opt for eight Mojitos instead.
#worldpoetryday #poetry #love #sadness #happiness #margaritas #mojito #dinner #loveandlife
“Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one’s head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forget life, to be at peace.” — Oscar Wilde, The Canterville Ghost
The nurse woke me up at seven this morning,
though to my phone alarm I’d already arisen:
so I may shower, dress, and be ready by 9 am –
to be trolleyed to a theatre for the operation.
Mildly sedated the night before so I sleep well,
I am fresh and mindful of my every move now:
though not a droplet can I drink since waking,
nor a bite of food did I intake past ten at night.
It’s a bright sunny morning outside my window,
yet there isn’t a spring in my heart, step or voice:
A solemn calm pervades my soul prepared to die –
like in films – convicts in readying to be hanged.
I brushed, looking outside a wall-to-wall window –
as if a painting of a tree by a multicoloured house:
Two nurses walked in-and-out readying my room,
laying out a starched white backless surgery gown.
I showered breathing slowly, conscious of my form –
in bathing a dead woman before her funeral sojourn:
Drying my hair, I shrouded in a white hospital gown,
to lie in view of a sky that’d be – even when I’m gone.
Wheeled on a bed – down the corridor and into a lift,
conscious of each turn I shut my eyes looking within:
Would my soul grief in not returning on these aisles?
I realise there’s no regtret – I’ve made peace with life!
Ouside an OT they dial my mother, sister, two friends –
with each on video chat – I realise how detached I am:
Like it didn’t matter if I were never to see anyone again –
I’ve given everything I had to give, to every relationship.
Shielded in a sky-blue blanket they peeled off my gown;
the writer in me shut eyes after a mindful look around:
Then the only sensation I was aware of was biting cold,
like I had sat up on my death bed on a thick slab of ice.
I knew for sure I wasn’t going to die, my mind’s strong –
shutting off life was just my soul’s defence mechanism:
A test of spirituality, after living every moment of life;
the fighter in me would survive – I’ve unfinished tasks.
Anaesthesia overriding – took over the baton of my life –
passing it on to the expert surgeon and team to resolve:
First thing I profess floating up to life – is searing pain;
soft sunlight on my face – in baby pink suit I feel reborn.
“Life and death appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and pour a” torrent of light into our dark world.” — Mary Shelley
“Every man’s life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another.” ―Ernest Hemingway
PS: I had this experience, on the 15th of October 2019.
Yet it took me almost two weeks to be able to put it into this flow of words…Only when experinces and ensuing thoughts are left to cool off, can they be written dispassionately. As I tend to with life’s experinces, as a responsible writer, I had to first step back, heal the physical pain, then let the thoughts process in my mind…
Happiness does not depend on what you have in life – it is the ability to condition your mind to the state of contentment inspite of your external circumstances. Such that those who see your smiles may be sceptic of the cause behind it as they cannot have it – inspite of everything that they think they have more than you do.
The surest way to find happiness, is in first having a personal vision for your life even if it is to be the ‘best’ mother or house wife… and setting goals to achieve that vision, such that climbing every rung envelops you in the essence of achievement and contentment.
Without a spiritual bent of mind, by dwelling in shallow and frivolous thoughts, and looking at other’s aspirations and weighing their ability to achieve them – you can never find the light towards real happiness.
If you allow your smiles to be dependent on your children’s successes, your loyal and doting wife/husband’s ability to get you whatever you want, your financial situation and lifestyle – your smile can never emanate from your depths. The happiest moment then will only be fleeting as a butterflies life, for profound and constant happiness – is deep rooted within yourself and emanates only from your “self” esteem.
Don’t rely on anyone else for your happiness and self-worth. Only you can be responsible for that. If you can’t love and respect yourself – no one else will be able to make that happen. Accept who you are – the good and the bad – and make changes – not because you think someone else wants you to be different.
Once you become fearless and habituated to standing close to the edge, from years of practice, you don’t really care about the threats, baseless fears, inferiority complex and insecurities of those who preach from their limited exposure and shallow thinking. You would rather fall and learn newer lessons each time, than allow their negativity and pessimism restrict your thinking, even if they like to construe – your self confidence that can only come from having taken that dive so often to successfully surface and swim back to shore – as arrogance and irresponsible behavior.
— Shuvashree Chowdhury
“One of the most tragic things I know about human nature is that all of us tend to put off living. We are all dreaming of some magical rose garden over the horizon instead of enjoying the roses that are blooming outside our windows today.”
— Dale Carnegie
“Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy.”
— Thich Nhat Hanh
I can still hear the rain pattering
on red and green ridged tin rooftops –
against silhouettes of mountainous forests
in varied lush tones of emerald.
Grey clouds are soaring skyward, as fog
steadily descends: between clouds
and fog a magnificent light bursts-
illuminating the land of thunder dragons.
Ink-blue sky peeps intermittently below
the grey clouds right through the splendid light:
Even as rain stops and fog creates a halo over
the stupa’s many tiered golden roofs.
A man or two in tartan brown and black Gho
have descended onto the washed streets,
as a woman in a purple silk Kira walks by my window
cautiously, as do cars ascending a light-swathed valley.
In the distance I see grey peaks, white peaks
that are etched out in thick smog,
as clouds through them hop in and out in turns –
as if characters playing their part for a live audience.
The green wood’s stage irradiated as if by Arclight
is visible in fog, also mud-tracks on hills in the backdrop:
as hearts in ‘the land of happiness’ – Bhutan illumined
by spirituality: are unfazed by anguished deluges.
Go away: Live And Let Live…
You can have your freedom,
But then don’t seek my love.
You can flap your wings wide,
Don’t seek access to my trust.
If you don’t strive to be mine,
My heart will again open up:
It’ll allow in one who belongs,
Who doesn’t seek reckless fun.
You leave my heart’s door open,
It’ll shut you out, so never return.
Just go, go away to your freedom,
I’ll choose one who truly belongs.
I wish you a love that has no bars,
A heart that’s yours, his, everyone’s
There are freedom seekers I attract,
My cage is of gold, refracts the sun.
Till Love Do Us Apart.
One evening, a few years back, over coffee with a friend at a resto-cafe, he soulfully narrated to me the story of the opposition to his current romantic liaison. He had lost his wife – a decade younger than him, after a prolonged battle with Cancer, a couple of years back. Now the strong resistance to his desire to marry again, to be happy and live a full life, ironically came from his daughter. She lived in London since the last decade, along with her British husband. And was an ex-journalist having worked long in Delhi where the family lived and is currently a publishing professional. His son was married and lived away with his wife and children in Calcutta.
My friend, Mr. Boruah, was about 75 years, at the time of this conversation. A rather successful businessman at one time, he now lived a retired and quiet life, though as fit and handsome as a man of 60 might be. He still played Golf regularly at his club, in spite of a weakening elbow. And had his daily measure of the best Scotch whisky before dinner, and as much as was possible, tried to fill his life with intellectually gregarious and artistic company.
I had first met Mr. Boruah in an official capacity in Calcutta, and we had become friends over varied interactions. I tend to strike friendships easily with men and women, decades older than I am, as I can relate to them just as well as I do with those my age or younger. This is perhaps because I find mutual respect and admiration the necessary requisite to any relationship. And I find that people who are much older are usually more respectful in friendships, as they are confident of who they are, of their views and opinions, and their place in the world. Personal and professional insecurity, jealousy, aggressive and rude condescension resulting from the two, in my view, is the most effective deterrents to friendship. I like to respect people for whom and what they are irrespective of success or failure, rich or poor and am rarely judgemental, but above that I value my self-respect.
Over our second cup of coffee, his with ‘Sugar free’ from being diabetic, Mr Boruah went on to share with me the details of the cause of his sad and forlorn look, on my prodding him on it: There was a young woman, about his daughter’s age, Mr. Boruah had known during his earlier working years, who was much in love with him since long. He had been friends with her but did not take her romantic gestures seriously before, in fact had been rather amused by it. But after his wife’s death, this woman who also knew his daughter well, had been pestering him to marry her. She was professionally successful, financially well off, and though over fourty years, had refused to marry anyone other than the man she loved – Mr Boruah. What did it matter if he was 75 years?
“So why don’t you marry her Mr. Boruah?” I blurted excitedly, rather pleased on his behalf, that he would have a companion in his sunset years, as I was rather fond of him.
“No, I can’t.” he replied stiffly.
“But why…why not?” I pestered him, and then smiling I added, “You’ll get a new lease of life…trust me! All those heart ailments you have, will be resolved…As you’ll have a new heart – won’t you?”
He could not but blush, as he replied – “I wish my daughter were as cool as you.”
“Ah! So it’s your daughter who has a problem, has she…Well, it is truly her problem not yours, Mr. Boruah” I replied stiffly. “She is happily far way and does not bother as to how you’re going to live alone here. Doesn’t she see and realise how lonely you are and how difficult it increasingly is for you to live by yourself, so what if you have a fleet of butlers and chauffeurs?”
“My daughter dislikes this woman and will not allow her to take her mother’s place, she argues.” Mr. Boruah stated emphatically. “Every time I’ve tried to broach the topic, of remarrying, she gets furious, and then won’t talk to me for months. Then even I don’t call and now our relationship is rather strained.”
“That’s rather selfish of your daughter Mr. Boruah, isn’t it?” I said firmly. “Do you want me to talk to her? I’m sure I can convince her, even though I don’t know her at all. She needs to understand that you are so lucky to find genuine love and another chance to live a wholesome life at your age. Why would she wish to steal your happiness from you? That too when she will not have you live with her in London, or come here and live with you.”
“I know, but who will explain all that to her…if you call she will be furious I even told anyone of this. What upsets me is this young lady – who just refuses to get married to anyone else but me. I’ve coaxed her for the last ten years, but she is just as adamant, as my daughter is against it, to only marry me or no one else.”
“If it’s your daughter’s insecurity and fear over this new woman’s claim to your money and properties, you could make a will, dividing everything between your daughter and son. This way she won’t have a problem with you marrying I hope.”
“My daughter knows well, that this woman is rather affluent herself, and she comes from an illustrious family.”
“Then it is sheer self-centeredness Mr. Boruah, on your daughter’s part.” I insisted.
Mr. Boruah remained silent, looking at his empty coffee cup for a while, then looking up he said sullenly, “I am so overwrought with agony from the strained relationship with my daughter. If it was only about me, I would never suggest getting married. But I do care about this young woman, who has sacrificed her own marital prospects only because of me.”
“You owe it to yourself Mr. Boruah, to be happy till the last moment of your life. More so, that God has given you a new lease of life.”
“I know. But God gives you with one hand, and takes away with another” he grinned.
“So ironic, you know, since my father’s passing away, I hoped my mother would meet someone, a friend, a companion.” I said thoughtfully. “But you’ve met her, what a difficult and stubborn woman she is…the very idea is beyond her comprehension. I’ve even considered various matches in my neighbourhood (I laughed)…but she will beat me with a broom and throw me out of the house for suggesting such a horrendous thing – she says.”
Mr. Boruah smiled, “Well, knowing your mother, it is quite expected, even though she is younger than me.”
“You see, Mr. Boruah, for all my broad mindedness about wishing my mother would remarry, I’d never allow anyone to take my father’s place – neither in my heart and life, nor do I wish to replace him in my mother’s life. I just wish upon her to have a friend, a companion, and lead a full life again. You know how in the last years of my father’s life, Ma was so focussed on his illness and seeing him through it, she had no friends or life of her own. She has no one, except for my sister and me, and ironically we live in other cities. I truly wish she was not alone. This is why I wish for her to have a man in her life…to be married perhaps.”
“My dear, how I wish my daughter would think like you” Mr Boruah said, as he patted my hand, then asked the waiter for the cheque. After the waiter left with the bill folder and we got up to leave he added sadly – “You see, for my daughter’s sake I can give anyone and anything up, as I will this woman for good…I mean, I must, part with a new love after all, for my daughter’s love. I owe it to her. My happiness is not more important than her happiness.”
The pictures are only for representation
The narrow winding mud road,
Ran into the deep green woods;
Even as I looked at it enchanted,
I rushed by on tracks by the brook.
Where might that road have lead?
How I wish I had followed its trail:
Perhaps to a stream gurgling by hills;
So I’d stretch on nature’s green stage.
I’d watch the birds regale a blue sky-
Forming patterns only I could relate;
The sun beaming, guiding their spree-
Through green trees I’d watch its rays.
A white rabbit might hop over to me,
Distinct amidst lilacs, blue daffodils;
Offer his hand to any aid I might need,
Here in his home of beauty and solitude.
My face sprinkled by a waterfall I’d smile,
‘No, I’m not lost, I’ve found…” I’d reply.
‘A home as none yet, as no friend nor joy –
Which then wouldn’t you allow me to enjoy?’
He’d accept, yet I’d chug by, on steel tracks,
Never this narrow winding track to traverse:
To return to my world – to reality, and a life,
Where at home, there’s struggle, but Hope.
12th December, 2013.
9th July 2014:
As an employee of an airline, in my mid-twenties, I happened to meet a celebrity photographer at the Calcutta airport, as he waited to take the flight to Mumbai. He struck a conversation, even as I was walking past him in uniform. After he introduced himself, my immense interest in photography propelled me into the seat beside him. His attentiveness, however, as I was to realise in course, was of me as subject rather than pupil, even as I quizzed him on technicalities. He chose to reply from the viewpoint of me as subject and though I could well do without his intrusive gaze, my curiosity kept me looking back at him steadily.
“You cannot be a ramp model” he said bluntly, even though I didn’t remotely ask him “but can do well as a still photo model…your weight could be taken care of with the right camera angles.”
Now for a woman in her twenties, that statement on weight, and how it was an impediment to my beauty could have sent me scuttling into depression or a crash diet and exercise regime, it didn’t…rather firmed my resolve I did not care to make an impression on the world with my looks.
Yet, I am the same woman who changed her clothes, applied lipstick, and did her hair, at 10pm of a January evening, on her way to the crematorium, accompanying the hearse carrying the remains of her father- alright even the night before. I dressed only for myself that evening, even though I knew I could be judged as frivolous by the large crowd outside our house, waiting to see the hearse leave.
Absolutely, I can never quite value the romanticism- as it is to some people, of unrequited love. If someone ceases to love me, ignores or avoids me, I let them go so promptly they won’t apprehend who let go first, them or me…and I can do it so very kindly.
Tears, if you allow them to fuel sparks of fire, have the power to propel you to illuminate the world. But you have to be able to harness that force positively, instead of letting it char your soul instead.
We hardly, if ever, realise our views and opinions of the world and people, is a projection of ourselves, more than of that or those we evaluate or critic. Also, it is character that determines whether we have the gumption, to voice our true opinions and views. It takes courage to allow the world to view our beliefs, see what we stand for, knowing we’re being judged in turn.
A novel aims to draw all these people out of their numerous worlds, to project them realistically…and it is exhaustive getting under people’s skin if at all they allow you, or else you just get under your own skin to imagine their world’s, to feel under their skin and into their souls.
We can effectively pretend ourselves into the state we want to be in. If we pretend to be happy, calm, open, gregarious, generous, smart, whatever else we wish, we can become all of that in time. The world tends to reflect the view of us it sees, back to us. Internalizing the thoughts and images we’re playacting, they soon define us. So let’s pretend all we like, but take our time in thinking, choose the characters we’d like to enact.
I never allow myself to be so bored in my own company…that I become dependent on others to entertain me always, and thus allow them to become bored of me in turn.
Failure toughens you, teaches you the essence of humility, and builds your character in preparation for success and adulation, so you are prepared to deal with its deluge rather than drown in its tide.
I love going up into the mountains, they make me realise just how small I am and yet how firm. The beauty around and below caresses me with calm, even as the chilly pure air wraps me in a blanket of security and assurance, reminds me how strong I can be even in my solitary minuteness. I have the freedom to stretch my arms here, touch the clouds as if in a dream, and float up if I dare. As I climb up to the light and warmth of the sun, passers-by may notice, follow suit in my trudge.
22nd June: I’ve asked myself what is really important early on…and have had the courage and wisdom to sacrifice many things to build my life around the answers. Thus I’ve never looked back on life with regret. Yes, I’ve quit jobs I’ve put my heart and life into, just when I could see brighter lights beckoning with money and growth, for love and family; I’ve sacrificed the ability to buy expensive clothes, jewellery or shoes and take random vacations, to write a book with single-minded focus without surety it would see the light of day…and I have no regrets whatsoever. To those who tend to view my life as a chain of suicidal bids…all I wish for is the smugness I feel.
I ensure to bathe in positive thoughts daily, at some time in the day however late, whatever my engagements, and I share…as I believe when you share anything it multiplies manifold
Happiness: Sometimes, the only way you can be happy, even when your world seems to be crashing around you, and all you feel is a void inside, is by putting your energy into making others happy. Like the moon, you will absorb and reflect the beams of happiness people exude, and your life will glow again from it. Thus making others happy can make you happy. There is no harm then in faking a smile, is there, till it soon truly defines you.
Just when you’re done defining me, I’d go and redefine myself…just when you think I can’t do that, I’ll prove you wrong; by the time you’re sure that’s exactly what I’ll do…I’ll do it no more. Predictably, unpredictable…is how I see myself, and yet, very predictably, if ever you need my help I’ll be there. See I’ve defined myself, so don’t bother doing it yourself ha-ha
Less Can Be More and More Can Be Less:
I really wish people would appreciate this viewpoint, then they would recognize why people with far less than what they have, can be much happier than them. It’s because they don’t understand this basic idea that people think those who are apparently happy with little are faking it.
Happy people are chasing the right attitude, even as you chase quantifiable gains to reach a state of exaltation which constantly eludes you…so it’s time to wake up to that.
People assume those with less would be jealous of them. They need never be, as they could be feeding their souls with the right attitude, also the choice of relationships and dreams, even as you feed yours – with the debris of measurable gains that weigh you down.
if you keep hovering close to the shore, afraid to swim deeper into sea, you will never see the beauty of the shore from the distance…how it beckons you, cajoles you, with its glittering lights and the absolute beauty of life, to enable you to appreciate it to the fullest…So, just brave going out far from your secure zone, risking getting lost even, you will find a way to return with greater appreciation of life and what you have.
Everyone has a unique way of expressing – love, anger, rebellion, pain, sadness, even jealousy. After the initial euphoria of love, it should well settle into being the process of deciphering all of that about someone, loving them for it. It should not be seen as the process of identifying whether their demonstration is attuning to our perceptions or its manifestation. Then disillusionment sets in and kills love. We might like to keep our individuality and also ally our perceptions to that of the one we love. All forms of love, including friendship, may be aligned to this thought, so as to thrive. However, I categorically override habitual misbehaviour, justified as love, from this premise.
A PENNY FOR MY THOUGHTS…is anybody interested?
I am constantly dissuaded, by my writer husband, from sharing quotes. That I continue to do so steadily is out of my strong conviction, that sometimes it is a mere statement from a reputed source that makes a major difference to someone’s life. It is not that I am not confident of my own thoughts and wisdom, or of my capacity to articulate them well, that makes me share time-honoured ones. It is rather my insight that allows me to discern people will not take my words seriously enough to consider life alterations, until I have made a name for myself. How else do I explain the readiness of even close friends to read my husband for the first time, over me? I graciously accept it is his brand equity from two decades of being a journalist with reputed papers and of being an established author now in addition to a really good one that is the cause, not necessarily a personal preference for his writing even before reading him.
As for me, with as many years in the corporate sector, but not even as many days as a writer have as yet to build my brand one steep step at a time. I have changed my work industry several times and every time I have had to build my brand-equity from start, so I am not intimidated by the need to do it all over again in ‘writing’.
I’m quoting here an example to validate my point: I had attended a concert in Chennai over a year ago, by Shreya Ghoshal, the reputed singer. Before she came on stage, as is often the case, a very young male singer – unknown, sang a few numbers, by the end of which the audience vociferously tried to boo him off stage, asking for Shreya to come on instead. The young singer, his condition leaving a big impact on me perhaps forever, continued to sing through the loud catcalls bidding his time. When Shreya came on stage, true to anyone who has made it big through struggle, praised the young singer fervently, stating she had selected him from amongst a large number who were vying for that role. After Shreya’s performance, when again that singer came on stage for a few final numbers, the same audience applauded him, much to my surprise and to a lesson well learnt as to why endorsements are so important.
So friends, until I am able to establish myself as a reputed writer, you’re going to be served a steady dose of thoughts from established sources that inspire me Also, something my husband is yet to learn about me – by now, through my stint as an executive search consultant, followed by that as a historical fiction author, I am master of internet research. He assumes, I spend hours to dig out the quotes I surface with and post and I should much rather be using that time to work on my writing. I believe in working smart, not only working hard.
Leaps of faith are like a desperate run for the last train/bus home for the day, so I’m not left stranded, or they could well be as the rush for the first transport to get to work, so I’m ahead of everyone to prepare for my day/life.
Whichever way I look at it, I take these leaps a lot and am getting pretty prolific at it. I have landed or been propelled to sea so often. But I’ve learnt to swim against the tide, bathed in salt water/tears and come out feeling stronger, wiser, invigorated by the swim.
Writing versus Acting: Writing fiction is different from acting in a film, in that in the first you have to make the reader enact the scenes in their head as the director would, while in acting you enact them yourself. In both cases, you get into the minds and under the skin of your characters, feel them through all your senses, laugh with them, cry with them, love and hate with them, you become your characters completely. In writing, you’re not only the director, but also an entire film crew. You choose the location, create the setting, choose the props and above all humour and engage your actors – who in this case are the readers, with the choicest of words and analogies, so they don’t get bored, till they complete the act till the end of the novel, in their heads.
This has always been my view on confidence, right since school: never to look at which point in the race others are, but focus on where I wish/have to reach. It helps garner mental and physical energy towards making it to the finishing line, rather than dissipating them on viewing others position, feeling insecure by those seemingly ahead. Thus even if I don’t win a race, I never have regrets, for I know I’ve put in my best effort. A lot of people like to see this attitude either as over confidence or heedlessness, but then that’s their perspective.
Communication: An adage I’ve practised since very young, noticing subtle cues when communicating with a person, sometimes seemingly distracted to spoken words as I don’t rely as much on them as I do the written, and I’ve never been sorry. You get better at this skill as you do with the practise of any other, till it becomes involuntary like with driving, swimming or cycling. In my view, you don’t really need someone to tell you that they like you or love you, as you can sense if they do, though it feels great to be told…or for that matter not understand when someone dislikes you, is upset, angry or jealous.
WORDS: The written word, gives many of us power, clarity and definition, when used over the spoken word. With written words we do not exhaust ourselves through physical manifestation and overpowering by voice or personality. I first gained cognizance of this through one of my clients – the MD, in my stint as executive search consultant. He always insisted on getting all top/senior level recruits to write out a speech/plan/email, before making an offer, in order to judge their cognitive abilities. In his view, verbal interviews can fail due to personality overrule, but not if one is asked to write a page with clarity. I have since then, used this awareness to my personal strength and to debate with myself into a standpoint or solution. It is also much easier to speak one’s mind, in writing, when the other person is not trying to physically over power you as some of us have not been blessed with a loud and booming voice or aggressive body language or a threatening countenance. Perhaps why I chose to become a writer…to be heard… ha-ha.
It is not as important, what you read or how much you read, as compared to how well you read. If you don’t open up your mind to what you read, carrying your mindset steadfastly as if in a covered palanquin through the thick foliage of fresh green woods of thoughts and words on your path, it is as redundant in my view, as carrying your belongings to the pyre or grave for use in the after life.
At times I have so much to say,
At other times nothing at all
Sometimes I feel one with the world,
At others from outside I view the world
At times I want to be amidst people,
Quite often just alone with my thoughts
However in life I equate with the world,
I know, one day, alone I must depart.