Herein lies the cycle of this existence. Replete with everyday banalities - placid and meaningless - the menials of survival give away almost suddenly, and I find myself plunged into the depths of an unperturbed silence... where a voice within resounds the Om. A rage drives me to divest all falsifications.. those sensuous pleasures and miserable burdens, insecurities and frustrations.. and all that exists/acts in a true sense of transience. I feel calm again - cleansed and breathless on the shores of this Reality. But alas!, the Silence fades.. slowly and steadily the noises of the world begin to seep in, like the first rays of sunshine after a long wintrous slumber.
Crests and troughs, this life of mine. A reckless indifference grips my heart; I exist, unbeknown of whether I am a benign Observer or the perverse Experiment, or evenly both.

Youth’s bitter, tormented and forsaken moments
Linger on past their welcome
Freezing leaves with their wintrous foibles
Leaving nothing to the imagination
All is as it was back then
And pity is procrastination

In the foyer whitened ceramic bells shatter scattering rice and flour.
A wintrous storm the cold dry air obscuring his vision.
Afraid exposed to the high winds and drifting snow.
He lifts her veil seeking comfort
the sheltering warmth of her devoted face
a sunset reflecting off the snow capped mountains.