On a dismal day

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Up and Down

Tapasya – Roots  Simar – Peak

It was a little weird to get two (kinda) opposite prompts at the same time – Roots and Peak. I decided to post a single piece on them – lazy as I am (and that too 3 weeks too late – I really am lazy)

 

Dig, dig, dig.

Climb, climb, climb.

Dig, dig, dig to reach the muddy cradle deep inside.
Climb, climb, climb to reach the height no one has tried.
The cool, dark beginnings,
The light, harsh end.
Freezing and burning,
Scrapes and bends.
Yearning to reach out
Trying to hide
To scramble out
To cocoon inside
To stand out
To fade into the white

Why should success be the ‘heights’ you reach? Why should ‘falling’ be so despised?
After all tempers rise and folks fall in love. Don’t they?
Do they?

What takes me Up and up? Joys that come in leaps and bounds?
Down, down to the ground, through the ground, into the ground? Grief that makes me free fall?
Don’t they?
Do they?

We put winners on a high pedestal but higher up, one is closer to the harsh sun. Why not embed them inside? (In a non- serial killer way) Make them our tethers? Our anchors? Our roots?

We fly in dreams and crawl in our nightmares… We lie down in our fears and jump in our joys…. Why? We get down with blues, get a sinking feeling..why? Sky is your limit – we are told. Why? Can’t the ocean bed be someone’s pinnacle?

Why aim for height and not for depth? Find one’s roots? Does it seem suffocating? Like settling down when one just wants to run? Don’t rooted trees grow? Do they not move with the wind?

Why bring someone down or get high? Why not keep each other grounded and still fly?
These phrases seem disjointed and meaningless.
Don’t they?
Do they?

Why stress over this? It may all be for naught.

If you look the other way around… Roots are just mountaintops.

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Curtain

Challenge by Megha Ojha: Death

On the nights when friendly banter turns to serious discussions (about life, universe, religion), one topic that creeps up as inevitably as the phenomenon itself is DEATH. It is something we always end up talking about, even if don’t want to, even if we just had the most enjoyable day in recent history. Is it just a morbid habit of a morbid group of ours, or is it a universal icebreaker? I do not know. But we end up nattering about it just as we are bored to ‘death’ of prattling about the insignificance of our lives. It is the scene right before we pull the curtain on our day.

It is the punctuation mark that will end each and every life sentence. Will my sentence be a long or short one? Will it be explosive enough to stand out or will it be a part of the boring passage everyone skips? I do not know.

Death is the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that comes to everyone​, without distinction. Sometimes it adds meaning to the life lived, sometimes… It is a rude interruption.

As I wander clueless about what to make of my own life… I wonder – What is the purpose of it all? Should there be any aim? Why must we go through this charade, oscillating between wonder and disgust, joy and grief,  delight and agony? What is the purpose of it all?

Maybe, just maybe, the purpose is to live, to question, to survive, to exist. Maybe not. Maybe we are pawns in a universal game, or maybe we are just anomalies.

That is quite a lot of maybes.

I have convinced myself (for now) of life’s purpose – to LIVE …because one day, you won’t.

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