Our Journey

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On a road commonly  travelled,
I walk with a few fellows, How long are we together or how soon shall we separate, are not questions that bother me.
But, that you are,
and that the path is
and that we are walking while we can,
Is all I care for.

I need – not your promises, Take none from me,
Just walk with me as long as you can, and I will try too.

That day isn’t far away when I may be left behind and you will be carrying on,
Don’t look back then,
Or it may be the day that I may have to continue without you
And I won’t look back too, may be I won’t have the courage to.

So, while we can lets enjoy our journey.

#travel #journey #passengers #together #separate #fellow

Which journey…

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I wonder if I would like to live the journey of the rain. There is a freedom in its fall, direction, unity and ends up moistening every form with its healing touch.

Or, would I like the journey of a road that bears the heat of the sun, the beat of the rain, the screeches and the weight of its passers by, but shares a glossy affection saved from a long time only to be spent away in a moment.

Or, would I like the journey of the street light that finds no onlooker through the day and whose existence remains overpowered, yet it finds no rest when it is the pitch black night just so that it can bring to life, everything that it surrounds.

Or, do I continue to be in my own journey that lets me be in awe of every other journey which I come across.

And the question drops…

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An empty seat awaits your presence and when you occupy it, I will be rowing you silently through an ancient route. You sit there on the other end of the boat and look around. As you will find me absorbed in rowing you choose not to ask me that one question and you keep it for later. Then when you gaze the grasslands and the infinite sky a shimmering golden breeze kisses your face and you feel strange. For you know this breeze and this recollection will make you feel like you know every pixel of what you see and you know every grain of your feeling.  Like you know everything about everything here for ages. Like something is speaking to you and waiting for you to break your silence. Yet, your silence is your only language, your only means to express. You look at me and I raise my head. In the moment, something in us knows that a word will be too much. Your question drops. And, a wordless journey on an ancient route goes on..

Inseparables..

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What is the ground to the grass, water to thirst, mother to its baby, tree to the birds, sky to the stars and the sun to the moon?

Is it that one is and therefore the other becomes? May be.

But then, how would we acknowledge ground without grass, would there become a mother without being a baby, what is water’s value without a thirsty, a tree without the fluttering birds, how do you realize there is sky without the stars or know that sun exists at night without the moon?

There is no cause and effect here. Just the inseparables perceived from different spaces and at different times.

McLeodgunj-Dharamkot-Chamba-Khajjiar: The vacation in Himachal Pradesh..

Hello there. Been some time since I was here. I made a short trip to McLeodgunj, Dharamkot, Chamba and Khajjiar, hill stations in the Indian state of Himachal Pradesh. Splendidly surrounded by hills, streams, lakes, variety of trees, buddhist monks etc. Clicked some pictures from the hotel and on my way to these places.

“Can I ever find that..?”

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Picture Courtesy:  Fleur Treurniet via Unsplash

Picture Prompt for Three Line Tales – Courtesy: Sonya

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“I have changed form after form for millennials together:

Following signage after another, hunting treasures in search of the mystical experience(s).

Here I stand, tired, worn out again and within me I carry the same lingering thought(‘Unicorn this way’), alluring me to start the search again..”