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A colony raised
In a box, elixir gold
Bonded Bees toil
Experiences
Vicarious or the ones lived
Leave a mark, indelible

The teacher said
Stretch your limits to the maximum
It might surprise you

Little surprises
Bring a delight
Some are off limits
Wayward fedora
Shimmies in the breeze
Treetops
We strive to manage, what we can control
And control
what we manage
Why do we feel sad
When good things come to an end
Difficult to accept
Everything is transient
The sense of loss
Sinks in fast
Forgetting the happiness it brought

Why is it said
Everything that happens is for good
When
None of the experiences lasts
New avenues, do await
But
How do you move on
Like a sweet fragrance
It lingers, the memories of your childhood and youth
Vague, some lost to the years
A few remain, un-erasable
Like a mark
An impression on your heart

A part of you that you forgot
A part of you erased
Relived again, even if for a few moments
As you meet friends from school
Recalling the times and some incidents  about each other
Even though fragmented, these memories and moments, like a treasure remain

Breathing light through stained glass, from the school Chappel that we visited
Felt divine and the memory transcends
Even closer to the heart, lest the present buries the past
A promise made to keep in touch
Until we meet again
  Mar 18 Sarita Aditya Verma
Nylee
It's a reality when it is observed
It is unreal if no one sees
Even imaginary is unreal
but feels as if it is not.
If real is not real, why do I feel
we are running to acquire nothing
Are we onto something being
driven to see nothing sticks for long enough
If what I have doesn't make me happy
I manifest things with great yearning
But when I acquire, it just loses its lustre
Becomes painfully ordinary, are we onto anything?

we are participating in this life
It is real or fictitious, maybe both
we perceive it in our mind
Likely we have different insights
The echoes of our actions in a fleeting sound,
We bark out like a wounded hound.
We chase the shadows, of a promised light,
And grasp at substance, that dissolves in night.
The questions linger, in this hollow space,
Is meaning woven, or a fleeting grace?
Perhaps the journey, is the only truth we find, we are onto nothing,
A constant searching, of a restless mind.
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