Remember Me?

Do you remember me?

Not that much about me is so striking -
That it would stay with you
Long after we –
Parted ways.
Or just drifted apart.
Or never really clicked.
Or inevitably changed paths.
Or simply walked our own ways.

But still,
do you remember anything about me?
And what IS it?

Is it my plain face
That lights up occasionally
At the sight of a loved one?

Is it that song that I once recited?
That they said ‘sounds good’ –
But I know, not good enough !

Or do you remember my messy curls –
That just want to be –
Be themselves ?

Or maybe you remember my tired eyes –
That speak of old stories,
That never got a chance
to be told.

Or do you remember me as –
The all-knowing class kid
Whose hand shoot up
At every question?

Or do I remind you of –
A lost friend
Who still has a place
In your loaded heart !

Do you remember me
For our long long phone calls
And our long long conversations
That never really meant anything.
Or did they?

Or is it your phone calls –
That were never answered?
Coz trust me I do that a lot!
Guilty as charged!
And when I called back,
It was too late by then..

Ah! So you remember me
For that one time I stood by you –
In my little way.
But did it mean anything to you ?

Or when I spoke up,
When no one really cared.
But I spoke up anyway ?

Or maybe when the world was not
Such a happy place for you
And I came, and made it tolerable?

Is it the time when it was just
The two of us! (or maybe three!)
And we had our own world
And did not care
Until the reality did really strike !

Or do you remember me of
As a confidant
Who held your deepest secret
And took it to the grave?

Or maybe the one
Who wasn’t there
When you needed the most?

Do you remember me as
The soft-spoken girl,
Who laughed a little,
And sometimes - a lot ?

Or that one person
Who looked completely
Out-of-place-
Looking out for the right place?

Do you remember me at all?

And am I anything close-
To what you remember me as?
Or a little bit of all?
Or nothing.

Twirl around you.

Oh this fragile, delicate thread –

That binds us, wraps us –

Into our little place.

You and me.

And we both know better than the rest –

The toil and pain and blood and sweat

That went into its making.

And how you crossed the seven seas

To reach me,

Even though we physically stood a few steps apart.

And when you finally arrived,

And called my name,

How I came gushing,

And twirled around you –

Like a radiant, blossoming vine –

That had been waiting for its anchor since ages.

And it felt like the safest place on earth –

And sometimes,

It felt like the entire earth shrunk

To this space between us.

And it would sound difficult to believe now,

But trust me, this space had a life of its own –

And it breathed.

Oh, how this space breathed !

Through all these years,

I’d admit, things did change.

I can’t point out however,

When, how, why.

But things did change,

And so did you and I.

And time had its tricky ways

Of eluding us of each other.

And that space between us,

That once breathed,

Has been expanding ever since;

That space that once thumped and throbbed,

Now sends faint, obscure notes.

Yet, in my deepest hearts, I know –

You’d still cross the seven seas for me.

But crossing those last few steps,

Feel like a distant dream.

Oh this fragile, delicate thread –

That binds us, wraps us –

I can see it struggling

To survive and thrive.

And as these mountains between us

Keep growing every day,

You see me leaving –

I can’t say where I am going today.

But as my feet carry me

Farther away from you –

The heart of that space between us –

That heart wishes deeply,

Call my name one more time,

And I promise I’ll come gushing again,

And twirl around you.

Dear Amma

So, it was just one of those long tiring days at work. And I decided to do exactly what most of us do after a tiring day. I sat back in the comfort of my bed, and began scrolling through unnecessary, meaningless and over-informative social networking feeds! Ah were you thinking I would rest?! Hey who does that in today’s “always-online” world!

Anyway, so as I was swimming in this sea of random posts, I came across this beautiful, well-meaning video advertisement. It showed a lady’s retirement party and how she was gifted a guitar- so she could take up her long-lost hobby. It was tagged with #MomBeAGirlAgain.

I found it super-cool – partly because I like the whole idea of people connecting with their old hobbies. But mostly because I have seen how moms transform into an entirely new person; slowly and gradually ofcourse. And this new person has nothing to do with their old selves. Their likes, their interests, their schedules, even their faces, their hands ! They are just not the same.

No, I don’t mean to take away from what our dads do for us. They evolve too. Maybe not in the same way, but they do. But let’s keep that for another day.

I do not remember ever seeing my mom overly enthusiastic about music. But she has studied “tabla” for close to eight years ! You need to be kidding me to be able to study that long without self-driven passion. She tells us she even planned to take it up professionally but things did not work the way they were expected to. So she took up another job – that had nothing to do with music – and that’s it about it. She does play it sometimes even now, but she is no more passionate about it. Or so she tells us. And herself.

There are so many other things that my mom or dad were passionate about long back, and then we arrived, and we ate up all their time, and they lost touch with their passion, and now when they have the time for it, they can’t find the will for it. Well, that’s my personal theory and it makes me feel I have played a major part in this evolution.

Ideally, all moms; or for that sake – parents; should try to keep in touch with their selves and the things they love. I know it is so so so much easier said than done. As kids, we want our parents to be completely involved with us and we fight for their undivided attention. But as we grow up, I don’t think anything will make us happier than knowing that you love a thing dearly and your world is not just confined to ours.

So, here I am, trying to convince my mom to take up her music again. We have tried to convince her in person, and it doesn't seem to work. So here is another try.

Dear Amma, 

It will give us immense pleasure to see you passionate about what was once your passion. It will be difficult at first, and there will be a million reasons to stop trying. But once you get connected to it again, I am sure you will a find a new you. And it will have something in common with the old you – the girly you. 

Dear mum, please take up your music again. 

Dear mum, please give it a chance again. 

Dear mum, please be that girl again.

P.S. Here is a link to the video that triggered this writing.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u_TKm-r4CDE

#MomBeAGirlAgain

Sugar

You call me 'Sugar'.

You, like the ever-adaptive water,
flow along what life gives;
Turning your course when life demands.

Oh you don't know how much I cherish that !

And I go after you wherever you go.

And I follow you to the mountains.
And I chase you to the seas.
Hand in hand, we wander.
And we watch the soft breeze.
And we smell the flowers bloom.
And we listen to songs of chirpy birds,
Or so we presume.

And in you, I am lost.

And then spring leaves.
And ordinary creeps in;
And the birds don't chirp anymore,
And thunder and lightening begin;

I wake up and look at you.

Oh so sweet a face!
I swear I have never seen.
These eyes! This look!
Oh and that grin!

Oh you don't know how much I cherish that !

And I glance carelessly
At the distant mirror-
But I see nothing-No face.
Nothing. Not even a blur.

And I look at you sitting there,
With your sweet sweet face.
And i look back at the mirror,
And i don't exist there- No trace!

And then you say it again.

"Sugar".

And it all makes sense.

In you, I am lost.

Our Adventure is not over yet

In Search of Poetry

One fine evening, as I picked my pen;
And turned the pages -
I wondered what to write about.


I thought I’d write about the blue skies;
The lush greens that house the butterflies-
The ocean deeps – the mountain highs-
The abundance that overwhelms human eyes.

But all of it felt too divine
For this mere poetry of mine.


Then the idea crossed my mind-
To write about the instances unkind;
The lack of empathy that’s engulfing mankind-
A few selfish people pulling the country behind.

But as I looked around myself,
These verses did not do much help.


So I thought; why not write
About my lovely day so bright-
The tricky ventures that went alright;
How we survived hundred-and-eighteen Fahrenheit!

But as I went into more details,
Words just appeared to fail.


Puzzled, disappointed and dismayed,
I looked where my paper laid.
Ah! A new revelation had been made-
Poetry had already found its way.


And then it finally dawned upon me-
What I was trying to find so acutely;
Nothing mattered- the subject or its beauty-
The music was within me. I was the poetry.

Almost there.

On the darkest of days, the light of your soul guides me home.

The sound of your laughter is the sweetest song that ever stirred my ears.

She

You are a pretty Flower; They told her.

Pretty.

Soft.

Gentle.

Your fragrance permeates the air.

Your colours allure the eyes.

Your delicate petals hold all the softness of the universe.

And then they conveniently plucked the petals

With their cruel fists.

Adulterated her fragrance

With their filthy smells.

Stained her dazzling colours

With their murky, smutty hands.

Left her withered.

Faded.

Tainted.

You are the vivid Sun; they told her.

Vivid.

Glaring.

Invincible.

Your light blinds the world.

Your aura dazzles the sphere.

Your warmth engulfs the galaxies.

And then they swamped her light

With their gloomy souls.

Stole her warmth

With their abusive manners.

Crushed her aura

With their abasing ways.

Left her bland.

Dark.

Cold.

You are the free bird; They told her.

Free.

Fleeting.

Unshackled.

Your mighty wings enfold the skies.

Your enchanting songs mesmerize the spirit.

Your fearless flight inspires the bashful.

And then they slit her wings

With their self-pronounced regulations.

Suppressed her music

With their deafening yells.

Curbed her flight

With their convenient limitations.

Left her fallen.

Muted.

Broken.

And as they basked in the glory

Of their gruesome acts;

Rejoicing in their vicious victory-

She rose.

She picked herself up.

Her withered petals.

Her broken wings.

Her muffled songs.

Her diminished lights.

Her stained colours.

Her tired warmth.

And stirred them all.

And She rose.

She swirled.

She soared.

Stronger. Higher. Tougher.

And every single time;

They cut her wings,

Or crush her petals;

Or hush her voice-

She will rise. Again.

Stronger. Higher. Tougher.

The Withering Floret

Like the dejected, withering floret;

I laid along the pavement.

They passed by.

Some steps, light and lonely.

Some strides of carefree gait.

At times, they passed a glance-

With little time to watch or wait.

They walked along- hand in hand.

Their eyes never leaving each other’s.

I watched the dazzling fire in them.

Ah! How long before it smothers.

Oh I have seen this twinkle before -

That lights the love-borne eyes.

First comes pleasure, then pain.

Then? Unkind words. Unsaid goodbyes..

Many-a-times I saw them pass;

Lost in their happy space.

And I laid along the pavement;

Adrift in this giant maze.

One fine day, the winds did blow.

And off I went with the breeze.

Far and wide I trailed.

Seeking the final cease.

Eventually, I reached There-

Where the sun shines too bright;

Where butterflies sing lullabies;

Where there is no Wrong, no Right.

There we stood, all wasted;

After all these years of striding.

As his hands touched mine,

We felt the galaxies colliding.

And in that fleeting moment,

When fervours soared high;

Everything finally made sense

The pleasure, the pain, the goodbye..

The Incessant Woes of Limited Empathy

Time and again, life poses questions. Sometimes, if you are lucky enough, the questions are simple. The answers are obvious. The choices are crystal clear. More often, the questions are not so easy. Life has a way of screening difficult questions one after the other. Just like one of those exams that increase the difficulty level with each correctly answered question, so goes with life. It presents a tough time and simultaneously provides the courage to deal with it. However, just when you have gathered the pieces and begin to feel that the tough phase is over, more daunting questions seem to surface. That’s the vicious circle called “Life”.

Interestingly, the questions posed to us seem to be more difficult, pressing, stressful and draining than the ones posed to others. We peak into each other’s lives to ascertain the difficulty level of their questions, and almost always jump to the conclusion that our questions are more strenuous than theirs. The burdensome choices. The awkward answers. The adverse circumstances. All seem to be more hostile in our own life. The other lives also seem to be going through tough times, but everything seems to be under control. At least from the outside. In contrast, our life seems to have been struck by a hurricane that refuses to leave. That’s what happens most of the time. We fail to relate to other’s troubled lives because we have so much to deal with in our own life.

Yet, there are times when the trouble in someone else’s voice is enough to initiate a sea of emotions within us. Have you ever felt a lump forming in your throat just imagining a loved one (even though miles away, geographically) in distress? Has the thought of someone dear being in grief made you so sick that your own troubles ceased to bother you anymore? Have you found yourself drowning in depression because of an emotional loss that did not happen to you, but to someone you cannot imagine losing?

Yes, these are the moments when you reach the levels of empathy that can possibly be reached by your soul. In these flashes, we do not need to push ourselves to feel the way another human is feeling. It just happens. Even to such extents at times, that you cannot stop feeling all the bad emotions; that have nothing to do with you at all; just because another human is going through all those emotions. So how come empathy seems to come so effortlessly to us in some instants, and just seems to touch-and-go in other?!

Possibly, most of us are capable of limited empathy only. Probably, we are only moved by the troubles and struggles of a few. We do get disturbed by the sight of a disabled man who was begging on the street, or a two year old who was raped, or an entire country that was dismantled by an earthquake. But the disturbance seems to have a very short life. It leaves. Soon. Very soon. Conversely, when we find our best friend going through an emotional loss, or a sibling who fails to achieve the dream of their life by an inch, or a spouse who has a strained relationship with their parent, we just can’t help but feel for them. We don’t just stand with them. We become who they are. We go through what they are going through. We become as exhausted as they are. And with time, we even covet the healing that we intend to provide them. That is empathy too. But that’s the limited empathy that we possess. That’s the reason we are not always able to relate to each other’s difficulties. That’s why we always find the questions in their lives easier. Maybe that’s why the grass always looks greener on the other side.

So would it take make our lives easier if we could enhance the compass of our empathy? Would it make us better human beings? Would it even be possible to do so? Is it something that we are simply born with? Or is it something that we inculcate as our hearts entangle with other hearts? Did Mother Teresa or Pope John Paul or Florence Nightingale deliberately widen their empathy circles to include everyone around? Don’t know. Can’t say. Probably these too are some of those questions. The ones with no clear answers..

Noises.

Noises.

I whisper, “Sshh”. The noises continue.

Aarrggh! “Sshhh!” They don’t stop.

“Stop!”, I shout. They don’t stop. They won’t stop. Flash.

  I wake up irritated. My ears can catch no noise anymore. No more voices. No more noises. Just pitch black darkness in the room. Pin drop silence. My ears work harder to catch some essence of life. And then there is some. A  distant barking of some dog in pain. Or so it seems to me. There is somebody supposedly talking softly into the phone. Or maybe to themselves? Who knows? My eyes smartly adapt to the darkness. I see around. I grab the water bottle. Water is relieving, I believe, when it goes down your system through your throat; more so when the system throws it out through the eyes. 

Hmm.. So? Time to go back to sleep, I guess. I lie down. The clock’s ticking. On and on. Looks like I can go back to sleep again perhaps. 

And then.. the noises return. “SHUT UP!”, I shout in my head. Only in vain. They will never leave me. They will never abandon me. The noises…

What the Selfie Means to Me

It all started with our daily no-sense-conversation during the much awaited break-time at work. My friend began to narrate last day’s incident. Apparently, her brother was the proud owner of an expensive phone, which he happened to mistakenly drop on the floor. The poor thing’s once-pretty screen shattered into pieces. According to my friend’s narration, her brother’s first reaction was “I hope the front camera is still working. Warna main selfies kaise lunga (How else will I be able to click selfies)!“. She, obviously, was more concerned with the overall health-and-well-being of the phone (mainly by virtue of its price tag – as normal people should be – at least as per my understanding).

No matter how weird the kid’s first reaction was, it is inevitably indicative of the latest trending thing today –the selfie fever! Admit it or not, at one time or another, we all have been guilty of contributing to this trend. Whether it be one of those days, when all you want is a perfect picture of yourself, and you can’t trust another living creature with such a vital responsibility, or that moment when everyone on the floor necessarily needs to be a part of the picture (leaving no one to click it), we all have been on both sides of the lens, at the same time. However, here I am trying to investigate the deeper meanings that this trend signifies, about us, as a generation, and more importantly, as a society.

There is more to the picture, than what meets the eye. Quite literally here. Behind that smiling picture of yours, more correctly called: “selfie”, is a loner. It is a person who likes to be clicked, but probably has no one to click that picture for them. It is a person, who chooses not to share the desire to be clicked, even with the closest people, but does choose to share the click itself, on a social networking website, with people they barely know.

Funny thing is, selfie is not always about you. Catching up fast, is the group selfie trend, wherein a group of people, click their own group picture, managing to accommodate all in one picture. They say it’s a great way to make the perfect memory. But are we so busy making memories, that we have completely lost track of the art of living-in-the-moment? Are we so worried about what we are losing, that we tend to completely ignore what we most definitely have? Is the present not good-enough, that we constantly need evidence to remind ourselves that the past was good? Maybe, the questions are too far-fetched. Or maybe, they are not.

As far as I can humanly remember, the happiest times of my life, are from my childhood. The most precious moments, the most heart-felt laughs, the most authentic smiles, the most delicious foods, the most memorable trips – everything that defines “awesome” dates back to my childhood. I happen to remember every single detail, no matter how old or irrelevant it might be in the present context. Strange part is: We never had a camera. The stranger part is, we never felt the need of having one.

That makes me think; probably the best moments cannot be clicked. Or more correctly put, the best moments do not have to be clicked. When the picture becomes more important than the object of the picture, it’s time to put that camera away, and remind yourself, to live in the moment, and not in the picture.

Keep smiling. Not just for the picture! :) 

A for Awesome !

I am an on-and-off reader. There are days when I go on and on reading stuff. I am so engrossed in multiple books at the same time that nothing else seems to matter. Days pass by and so does the reading fever. And then there are days, when I don’t read at all. I don’t feel like picking up the newspaper. I don’t like the sight of a written word. Then there is a phase between these two extremes, when I force myself into reading, for the heck of it. I reluctantly pick up the newspaper, telling myself it cost me a rupee or two. I text multiple people to suggest me an interesting read. Then I put in all my reason to choose which one will bring me back from the other side, back into the lovable world of words. And so goes on the cycle.

But all this while, there is one thing that I never miss reading. It’s called the 1000AwesomeThings. It’s an award-winning blog that’s also been supposedly turned into a book. I believe most of you would have read it as well, or heard of it, or stumbled upon it. But I felt the need to write about it.

The idea is quite simple. Neil writes about one awesome thing, every weekday. The thing can be as trivial as the joy of getting gas just before the price goes up, or Thinking it’s Thursday when it’s Friday, or Seeing someone laugh in their sleep. The list can go on. Some posts are long. Some are as short as a sentence. And some post-titles are enough to brighten up your day.

The amazing part is how a thing as little as “Watching something download really fast” can make you happy. And each day is filled with so many of these trivial things. And each day we experience something of this sort. But how many of us really take note of it, and feel thankful about it: About the little joys that life is filled with; the little gifts that we are blessed with. And what IS life anyways, if we take away these little joys from it! Neil lost a friend, but he chose to see the brighter side of life. And what a gift it is! To show a million people the beautiful side of life. We live our lives on the edge. We look at each day as if it were a battle. We cry about so many things. Some are really sad. Some are not so much. Some are completely unworthy. Truth is, It is all in the mind. It is liberating to just know that a simple change in outlook can change your entire life. At the same time, it is surprising that the things that bother us so much, can only be dealt with by our own selves.

I like reading the posts on this blog, because they make me happy. And I hope one fine day, I will be able to see all these awesome things with my own eyes, and will not need somebody to point them out to me.

So next time, you use your remote control without having to even look at it; or find a hundred-note in your old jeans, or catch a bus at exactly the moment it is going to leave; hold on, pause and feel the awesomeness of the moment. Because that might be the most awesome moment that you are going to live that day; and probably just that feeling could be enough to make the rest of your day as awesome.

Happy living !

Of days by-gone

I speak of old days-

Of days by-gone.

The smooth roads,

The grassy hills.

The lovely sunshine;

The endless giggles.

The dancing butterfly.

The innocence of life.

The long afternoons;

The carefree evenings.

That baby’s sleep;

The whims and fancies.

The quarrels and tears;

The making-up and cheers.

The chidings and wonder;

The lightning and thunder.

The little paper boats –

In the dirty rain-water;

Falling sick;

Missing school thereafter.

The ice-cream treats;

Cricket matches on the streets.

The Christmas tree;

The New-year plans.

The if’s and but’s;

The Will’s and Can’s.

The dreadful exams-

The hideous result-day.

The prizes, the gifts-

And then comes May!

New books, new bags;

Old notebooks; new tags.

Friends and foes,

Seated together in same rows.

Only fights; no gossips;

What’s in the heart, is on the lips.

Summer vacations;

Winter break.

By the end of it all,

The room’s a wreck.

All that fun-

And much more.

Double it all;

Still there’ll be some in store.

‘Coz I speak of old days-

Of days by-gone:

Of smiles and laughters ;

Of never-ending dawns...

Not easy.

No. It’s not easy.

It wasn’t supposed to be.

But You have got all the weapons;

That your battle will ever need.

You wait for the right time;

You feel it isn’t now.

But this is what you’ve got,

That’s more than clear and loud.

The roads never do the walking.

The paths are always sought after.

I ask, who tames the camel;

Other than its own master?

No matter how much you’d like that;

Life doesn’t come with a manual.

Sad, the expenses come daily;

Appraisals? Only annual.

So stop waiting for that instant-

The moment that never might come.

Live this second utterly.

Leave behind what’s done.

Put into action, all your energies;

And fruits will eventually bear.

Hope, perseverance and good-will

Can overcome every fear.

And when all apprehensions evaporate

You only have yourself to defeat.

As some great man said,

And I only dare repeat:

“It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.” 

I write to You

Every single day, I write to you.

I write to you a million letters.
Each letter with a billion words.
Each word with a trillion feelings.
Each little feeling, with a zillion heartbeats.
I write to you, about the alarm that did not ring;
That silly key that I forgot to bring;
The door-knob that targeted my hand;
That stupid presentation that I could not turn grand.
I write to you, about my favourite chocolate;
The song that’s been in my head, of late;
What divine-good healthy breakfasts do;
Which colors look really good on you.
I write to you, about that friend who ditched;
My friend’s view on the seven-year itch;
The argument at home that left me upset;
That unkind word that caused so much unrest.
I write to you, about the season’s first rains;
The first raindrops that struck the window panes;
The growing fondness for changing seasons;
And other trivial things I need as reasons -
To write to you and let you know -
That you are with me, everywhere I go.
And as I write to you those words,
I wonder if you’ll ever know..
About the million letters I write to you.
The ones i never did show..

It’s lonely on this road I tread. Looking for that I truly need.

There’s a crowd of people around. Walking and stepping along.

I know I’ve seen those faces. And it isn’t since been long.

I try to make out who is who: The red-haired guy and that girl in blue.

I promise we have met before, but now you look like a stranger to me.

Just walking along, talking along; but never for a moment looking at me.

Admit I do, you talk to me. And sometimes even I do speak.

But what you say never meets my ear; I don’t remember learning Greek.

I consider you once did say and do, some really good things to me.

But what things you said, what acts you did, I really can’t recall any.

I wonder what’s changed now? It can’t be you, I’m sure;

But something’s wrong I bet, something that needs a cure.

A part of me cries all day, and craves for what it rightfully deserves.

When every other has had their share, all my soul does is serve;

For other souls’ peace, and their serenity and their delight-

And bliss, and joy, and calm, and every other thing in its might.

When will come that instant? When will tranquility win?

When will real peace be born? When will good prevail over sin?

The wait’s been too long. The journey’s been too draining.

I hate those questioning eyes. I hate those people staring.

I hate it when I’m so alive, and yet there is no trace of life.

I hate to see those dancing butterflies, when all I’m at is strife.

All I hear are noises, and words that no more make sense.

I’m struggling to be myself; disgusted with all this pretence.

Do you know which way I was going? Do you have the tiniest idea?

Shall I come with you instead? Will it make this mess tidier?

Will you even take me along? Show me which way to go?

Will you put a full stop to this pain, and let my real self show?

Or would you rather be this way? I know you have your way to take..

Why should you anyway stop and wait? You have your own stake.

I’d rather just be on my own. Surely, there must be a way.

I do not expect the sun to shine, All I ask for is a ray.

A little ray of hope, of inspiration, of anticipation.

All I really ask for is the true way to my destination.

That place called home

A little more than three years away from home, and all I need is home.  It’s not like I can’t stay away from home for too long, but the futility of it all, and yet the necessity of it all, renders me answerless. What is that huge necessity that makes moving out of your home so essential, that you don’t have to think twice before accepting a job offer that requires you to be thousands of miles away from home? What is that unseen futility that tells you, after years of labour you have put into your workplace, that all this time you have been away from home, supposedly exploring the world and in turn exploring yourself, you have actually not been your real self? You have not been with yourself. You have just been: been busy, been working, been tired, and been anything but living life.

And yet, how many of us can ever imagine spending our entire life at home? There is this huge world to look forward to. There are new people to meet. There are new milestones to achieve. And any restriction, such as the one that needs you to be close to home, will just deter your success. And anyway, life is about moving on. It’s about finding new things in new places.

However, deep inside lingers a long-nurtured dream. A dream in which I am with the people I love the most. Doing things I love the most. I am at home - a place where no worries reside, where giggles light the mornings, and lullabies welcome the nights. There is no entrance into this place, nor does there exist an exit. As far as the eye can see, there are just butterflies dancing in the little gardens that encircle this place, while bright sunlight dawns upon the unkempt grass on a sweet January morning. There are no things to do, no deadlines, no ambitions, no desires; just the feeling of fulfillment, of nothingness. And as the sun sets, and the day grows cold, there is a little bonfire to warm me up.. There is warmth enough.. There is warmth enough..

And the dream lingers on.

But sooner or later, the butterfly will fly away. And as it spreads its beautiful wings, no matter how dangerous and unforgiving  the world is, the butterfly will simply fly away, probably not even look back once, madly engrossed in its new achievement, looking forward to a new world, where it hopes to find its place one day.