The Caravan

They need help and their numbers grow Too bad we're vultures, maybe some crows The current dilemma is a race to know Will assistance from my side give me my dough She wants to travel, see the world and its glow Her family has other plans for her though The current dilemma is a race to show Who fulfills the wishes of people they owe The current dilemma is a race to me To find the key, to always be free The current dilemma is a race to be Another spectacle for the world to see

How well i have fed, the swamps of my lungs, Full of smoke and oil, disease and puns. Look at my vessel, how much I've lost weight, What a sorrowful looking physical state. But take a look inside the frail vessel and see, A maze of what was, what is and what will be.

I’m sitting on my bed with my legs crossed, elbows on my thighs and my chin resting on both of my fists. I look like I am executing some well thought out posture that’ll aid my meditation and reach into some fantastic mental state of higher consciousness. I know, though, that this is not the case. This is the fifth posture that I’ve adopted in the last ten minutes and at least three of the four postures before this one made me look like a dead man. Instead of reaching any smooth state of higher consciousness, I am being continuously bombarded with sorrows and anxieties related to all that is controlled by my lower consciousness. My mind is, to an unnecessary extent, analyzing the decisions that have to be made now, those that have to be made in the near future, as well as those that I’ve made in the past that have lead me to my present circumstances. Instead of these confusions being linked to decisions about who I am as a person, who I want to be as a person, where I belong or

I thought of him today A beauty faithfully inspired A face missing, a person away A duty that has now expired.

The last thing the boy remembered about anyone was holding his mother’s hand while their tribe was migrating somewhere. This story is set in the stone-age times when the video that is “human civilization” was still merely buffering. The path was rocky and tricky. The boy had to often run in order to just keep up with everyone and not lose sight of his mother. His eyes were fixed at her gray dress with black and white spots. The ruthless twists and turns around mountainous paths ensured that one wrong step would mean definite disaster. I have learnt in life that disaster is inevitable once you have to look for it at all crossroads of your journey. The boy tasted proper tragedy when what he feared became a reality. A rock slipped from under his foot and he lost grip of his mother’s hand. He went tumbling down a steep slope near a cliff and was soon out of communicable range. Did no one try to save him? Was he never found afterwards? This is not a story of rescue. It is a story of