Tomorrow lies unspelled strewn carelessly across possibility for caprice to rest on numbered blacks and whites of the roulette wheel spinning in glee to the music of tonight as you cast a glance at my open soul paying a toll for half a chance
Truth is Janus faced. Silence is turbulent. The last innocent memory is psychoanalysed as the root of all sadness. Hope hides in endings, never letting go. Never moving on. Winter heals. You change your story everytime you tell it. You change yourself as you tell it. You can manifest anything. It’s also all your fault. If you fail, you don’t get to try again. Or again. These are things they don’t tell us.
Summer sunrise squeezing orange zest in jest into bright eyes of a new day to say... the world twirls Time around in profound joy of being fully content in the moment the moment, an island with you and me in eternity
The afternoon sun scorches fiery yellow on clear glass windows. From inside my air conditioned office, wearing a grey suit, ready for a Zoom call from Switzerland, I stare at a screen that seems incongruous today, and wait for the host to let me in .
This is mango season. Fruit vendors outside have the best Alphonso mangoes nestled in a bed of real straw. I picture myself later this evening, out of my grey suit, into my Indian cottons, bare feet, sitting with my family, going through each mango with bare hands, juice dripping down my wrists, tasting the best of one more summer.
scented breeze recalls ~a never again childhood running off barefoot