wiLL u B ThErE

Illusions, a dream

Not everyday does one wake up knowing everything it is going to accomplish on that given day. Neither does it know what the next hour will bring, and yet it works towards a future that it has created, that molds the very day that is beginning. What really explains us? our life our beating hearts our pains our happiness our sweat and blood our families??? the only truth that might explain us is that we are but an illusion, everything about us is nothing but energy... how does one explain our matter?? Don't even try it because you can't and if you just did, even try to contradict... i am jealous of you... cos ignorance is bliss.

Yesterday not far from the shallows, where the storks would come to get their easy catch and so did the jackals also when done would quench their thirst, walking aimlessly i stumbled upon a little pebble yelling out to me. Interestingly unlike other pebbles he seemed to have moved far from the babbling brooks that filled the shallows now feeding a million crocodiles and piranhas... all hungry for blood. I picked him up and he immediately breathed hard, maybe the air outside didn't suit him i for that matter have gotten very accustomed to the pollutedness that has become of this world.

Where have you come from little one? Your face, the eyes, yes the eyes, your lips, the smoothness of your skin... you are pure... clean sattvik... Where have you come from??

I put him back in the water for only the liquid of pure life could resonate the words of the rock.

From out in the mountains where the waters are pure, the rocks are smooth, the air is clean and people celebrate their homes... the forests, the land and their daily food... from the inners of the brooks that line a people who have long protected me and my friends that drink from the brooks who would once stop by and talk to me... the little elephants with the long noses and yet settled down in humbleness... the jackals with their yelps signalling their little ones to quench thirst... the eagles that would sit by the brook longing for their long flight... the crows talking endlessly, they are indeed the smart ones... the pigeons (lets not talk about the pigeons, they talk gibberish)... I come from the brooks that now line that land where the people today hunger for a voice... to be heard in a day that screams of mechanical cranes.

Little one no place like that exists anymore. We have moved along, isn't the world a whole lot better? I can call for my toxins and they'd be here in 30min or free.

The Little one lay silent. The lips were sealed, the eyes, yes the eyes, were shut... the smooth skin ever so tempting and arousing slowly dried up and roughened up. In my hands was the death of a messenger who would serve his purpose even after he is gone on the backs of rich naked women and men hoping to smoothen out their undesired bodies of their filth only so that they could nail for them a find to quench a thirst that never dies even when the thrusting is replaced with tongues, fingers and devices...

Does a place like that exist, I begin to wonder. I have some recollection of such a place and stories of the distant lands filled my early childhood. I turn around look at the rust bucket which once was a shinning piece of mechanical brilliance from the meads that built other brilliant stallions. Was it time i took him out again, look for this land. I turn to look at the pebble, it had vanished into the tears of the pure virgin which now makes the shallows (ref Winds of Change). Walking to my loyal steed, seeing the rust that covers it, its been ages the rider went out. Discover new worlds, heal unspoken wounds, build new worlds... suddenly the roads ahead begin to clear up beckoning the rider.

But i have already built for myself a life here. To ride again means i got to start all over again!!! Oh Great One of infinite Love and Energy guide to what i must do now. Talk to me for this is when i need you most.

Silence...

But in the silence in get my answer. its time to move on. I am the rider and I ride to new lands and discover. A rider can never fit in an office or a profession. Take my heart along, she'll understand... But i really meant to ask is Will You Be There when i find paradise and want to share it...Will You Be There and Will You understand.

The Rider rides... shakes of the rust from the bike.