Most of us love to create little gardens in our ports.Unearthing little plants and giving them a whole new place to expand in a selected area. They are ‘given’ the small pots as their settlements.
Green and brown make a great couple.
When the wanderer in me navigate my way through hosts of heads yearning to catch up with one smiling face, I must share: I return cold more than often. Everybody in an unfamiliar pot is robbed off their state of belongingness. ‘I don’t know you’ becomes the wear of community togetherness. From a distance the drums beat, the conches do not blow…the priest performs his time tabled ritual, Goddess of strength with her children look for it.
Autumn festivals are a great unwinding times bringing under their umbrella a prism of life. But with every move from one ground to another the gregarious creature in us dies a silent oblivion death. Doesn't it knock us all, a vertical ascend lets us lose…it tears into pieces the essential cords which make us a social being. The connection...the entanglements, the share of pranks and laughter,the coming together in pain, in grief gets squashed under the wheel of never at halt city traffic.
Yearning for a home not in a page, but a real mother,father, siblings and furthered home never leaves us alone.
Our life in exile continues from where it all began.
*******************************************
No comments:
Post a Comment