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Cassandra to self

randomry

Updated: Feb 21, 2024












The landing may be rough

Yet the arrival is mostly welcome

The comfort even assured

for the first nine months

 

Itinerary laid out, routes mapped

and plans made past A to Z

As the reluctant pilgrim ambles along unaware

The road, the map and every bit of itinerary (are) for choosing

Flexible and fluid more than footprints on water

 

Local attractions, must-see places and discounted heartbreaks to lure

Many bends and twists across the serpentine rollercoaster

 

Toys and toil that keep more than a few occupied

at times to the very exclusion of sojourn

 

Some linger too long in palaces of paper

kvelling over the name pinned to the door

 

Some wander about causeless forgetting,

the planet and the fate are both round in shape

 

Still more sweat out for the imagined race

Players with different lines to finish, at varying pace

 

Climes of many kind toughen some,

wither away some more,

and get only a few to blossom.

 

A lot more entangle

in the web of feelings fervent

Stalled in the mind and clogged of heart

A hearse broken down mid-sojourn

 

The breath, the beat and the hours

ticking away ceaseless

Yet the dream of immortality keeps many

from opening eyes, coming awake to life.

 

Moving from one to the next

a day, an hour, a moment

Life itself ticking away

on the time-piece wearing down the wrist

 

Yet, to most, the only certainty that is, the death,

in all of the chaos and tumult of a ride

Is but a myth from stories of alien planets.

A myth reserved for the rest.

Each busy playing Cassandra to self,

until the day the bliss of ignorance

continues to numb the pain of knowing.

 

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