Dear Charvi,
Sometimes when
the feet haste forward or the fingers tap in wait,
The mind steals
a few moments from the ever scarce time.
And it wonders,
as mind often does,
How would it be
if I faked my own death and started it all again?
Perhaps the
burdensome task to distinguish right from wrong will be dispensed with
And the
conscience freed to decide its own course and the gazillion voices silenced.
Perhaps I will
sail fiercely, unbound and unhindered, in chase of my true purpose.
Or maybe I will
prefer to befriend the waves and drift along purposeless.
Perhaps comfort
will wrap its arms around me in the candid laughter of strangers
Yet maybe a
house in the woods for two will be nice
Perhaps the
baggage of emotions will feel lesser while walking in another’s shoes
And I’d leave
behind a trail of great deeds or rather be immortalized as an infamous lover
Perhaps I will
sleep on a park bench for the want of shelter
Perhaps I will
tour the world by working backstage in a concert
Perhaps I will
be on TV, a celebrity or an anchor.
Perhaps I will climb
the Himalayas and become a Marleyian.
Every now and
then the mind does what it is supposed to do
And I wonder, if
I were to die would it start all over again?
