I walked past stores I had seen for years. Then, wait…Here’s one I’ve never seen before! Almost, like I needed to know that secret to see it. The secret one knows, only when one stops seeing time as a commodity  that has a transactional value. The secret that reveals itself, when one opts to walk, like there is nothing else to be done at that moment. Walk, even when the feet hurt. Walk, even if life streaks by – hurried, honking, hasty…

Except of course, the old man and his dog…With all the time in the world…

Apitcherfullofmirth (spewing vitriol) : Screw you Universe! You’re an ugly place to be..
Universe:………
Apitcherfullofmirth: You’re an ugly twisted place to be
Universe (deep solemnity):……………….

Apitcherfullofmirth (a pang of guilt): Different matter there is beauty in ugliness also
Universe (almost patriarchal):…………………..
Apitcherfullofmirth (attempt at reconciliation): The tree with red berries outside my window is quite marvelous.Ok. Thank you.

— Dostoevsky in The Brothers Karamazov

“…..I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity. — Gilda Radner ……”

by: James Elroy Flecker

I who am dead a thousand years,
And wrote this sweet archaic song,
Send you my words for messengers
The way I shall not pass along.

I care not if you bridge the seas,
Or ride secure the cruel sky,
Or build consummate palaces
Of metal or of masonry.

But have you wine and music still,
And statues and a bright-eyed love,
And foolish thoughts of good and ill,
And prayers to them who sit above?

How shall we conquer? Like a wind
That falls at eve our fancies blow,
And old Mæonides the blind
Said it three thousand years ago.

O friend unseen, unborn, unknown,
Student of our sweet English tongue,
Read out my words at night, alone:
I was a poet, I was young.

Since I can never see your face,
And never shake you by the hand,
I send my soul through time and space
To greet you. You will understand.

No 5- 7- 5 syllable structure.. Pretty much freestyle..Experimenting..

I say innocuous, in that firstly , it had appeared in the bottom left corner of the last page of the paper. Secondly, in this great country of a billion plus, murders, injustice, agitations, scapegoats, indiscriminate firing, delayed justice are de rigeur, atleast to me. Even as I say this I feel no remorse, no shame, to admit that such incidents don’t move me as much as they did once( or so, I’d like to believe) upon a long long time ago.
But what did strangely register in my mind was the old lady’s plight. For her, the question that still lurked was “who had hung the garland of chappals on the statue?”
I do not know if the issue was politicized. I’m inclined to believe it was, as the incident occurred close to the elections. However, what Dr. Ambedkar symbolized to the many who had been discriminated against is something I cannot even begin to fathom. For that matter, I cannot comprehend what it means to be discriminated against, to live life in subjugation, a second citizen in a world you create..

The many worlds around me, that I so naively believe thread into mine in some way. ..