Now
The clock
is ticking only as I care now for a purpose in hand—how strange I find for
such, the will-motivated quest and the imposed deadline that matters. Yes, how
true it’s why we can do it like getting up early in the morning.
A Gift
Even
through the shower of such falls along the narrow foot path just above the
tracks, like reserved for us heavy-hearted but light walkers, only one with me
up to my place. The single small white petal oval-shaped there on the floor by
the foot of the table. Spotting it, picking it up with fabricated feelings,
finding a tiny speck or stain on its heart, I find myself rebounding along an
imagination lane free from what I try to express here. So fragile it’s and with
a stain on its heart. With a heavy heart I carefully tuck it between the crisp
pages of my Oxford French Mini Dictionary, the best place for it to remain, dry
with the stain and to be there for finding so when I happen to open the initial
pages of R part later on.
The Barrier
“I know
about Tibet. It’s big and mountainous. Yes, by force. No real democracy but
talks and talks…..,” the inmate from a small part of Africa says so. Seated by
me in the lounge room with an LCD TV on the wall and those chairs fixed with
sticky tapes he seems to be in his late twenties in old jeans, a grey jacket
with the attached hat and dark rubber slippers. His shaved head, contorting
eyes as he talks, world knowledge, political view, his present struggle through
broken French and inquisitive way of asking for something land, at last, on what
he holds: Harmony as there is only one God no matter what and how you call, the
practical positivity in both thought and action as he commemorates today, the day
Jesus was crucified, by fasting the whole day. But the barrier, as he sees, for
both religious and political harmonies will prevail as long as we crave for novelty,
tangent, individualism, identity-promotion. The beauty is another matter. The salvation
is to wait till the spontaneous inner-call only.
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