Life is a journey, have heard and read a hundred times. The journey is unique. One of its kind.
People keep travelling towards the unknown all their lives.Everyday they set different goals. They travel towards what they think is most important to them.
Just like our own existence, our journeys are also absolutely different from any one else’s. People’s priorities, their passions, their interests are as different as the patterns of the snowflakes. No two are ever alike. And these constitute and decide the path one chooses.
Life- journeys are like the water flowing in a river, it never returns to flow at the same place. Life is like the fingerprint. It cannot be copied.
Still, we gauge our depths and distances covered with some body else’s measuring tools. As a result even our units don’t match.
The bricks of our journey’s foundations are exclusive, they are laid by our birth, the people in our lives. Our pain, our sorrows. Joys and pleasures, our loss and gains. They are laid by our principles, our upbringing, our character and personality which is baked in the kiln of life. Making them distinctive.
Still we torture ourselves with harsh comparisons, making the mistake of comparing it with other’s journeys.
As I sat near the open window, in the morning, with tea in my hand, the curtains swayed gently with a cool breeze.The remnants of an, all night rain, made the leaves outside shake off the droplets of water from them.Clouds covered the whole sky with no sign of the Sun. The last of the September rains, receding after a final try at rejuvenating the Earth.
…and the leaves started falling. They had been changing to yellow from green. They had been turning ever so slowly, and now they fell.
Firstsigns of Autumn approaching. Undoubtedly, Fall is always grand. It always takes the breath away with its beauty, its miracle of colours. Its magic of transformation, but the truth is, it is after all, the beginning of the end of a life cycle.
Time to let go, in anticipation of a new beginning.
Bluest of blues, the true blue. Trustworthy and loyal. A Royalty. Mixed with purity of white. The monsoon sky.
Everyday, when we resist temptations,
we redeem ourselves.
Move one step closer to atonement.
Another step towards salvation.
We open the locks, one by one,
Of the fears which cage us.
Fears, which make us invalid.
And win them over.
We free the heart, one string at a time,
of all the corruption.
Corruption, which selfishness births.
And rinse it with kindness.
If only we could be invisible,
the winds bringing painful memories of the past shall not find us.
Unsettling the calmness of life, with emotions superflous.
If only we were invisible,
the pebbles of memories of losing someone shall not hit us.
Causing ripples in the lake of present, with which we adjust.
Hiding peacefully in the serenity of oblivion, we shall be withering away our lives.
Instead, let’s mourn and pay respect to the souls of people we loved.
Let go and rejoice at the passing away of bitter memories of the past.
Be visible again,
to welcome the breeze of new moments, turning into happy memories.
To welcome the wind which causes waves in the present, writing new stories.
If only I had the skill and power, I would paint the perfect rain clouds for,
All the selfless rivers, flowing tirelessly, trying to fulfill the deficiency of water.
All the lakes, that are shrinking, exposing in years their beds that many had never seen.
All the crops, that grew beautifully till it was time for some rain water to nurture them further.
All the debt ridden farmers, whose hopes are tied to the timely arrival of monsoon.
Paint clouds which would deliver rain, neither more nor less than needed, no floods, no droughts but just the right amount.
” Just right” like Goldilocks’s tale.
Waiting for the rest of the blooms to bloom,
The tender buds to break out into clusters of petals and sepals.
Delicately shivering in the wet morning breeze,
Attracting bees and butterflies with their faint magnetic fragrance.
Waiting for the rest of the blooms to bloom,
The flowers to outnumber the leaves, the colours to contrast with the greens.
Bunches of reds, whites, pinks, tenderly bowing with their weights.
Intoxicating the passer-by with their sweet scent and beauty.
Waiting for the monsoon, so that the Earth could come alive,
Succeeding in imparting life, which only the magical rain water could give.
Waiting one day at a time, for the dark clouds to loom, for that abrupt shower,
Turning into consistent downpour.