Tuesday, 29 December 2015
Wednesday, 16 September 2015
The heavens have closed
their doors on us
and our Gods have failed us.
Flimsy excuses, false promises
all part of the charade, all zilch;
just to keep the caravan moving.
The burden of private tragedies
sitting heavy on us,
we carry on with the monotonous trek.
Lurking in the shadows,
on the periphery of brilliant lights
are the unknown fears,
real and imaginary;
to haunt us everywhere.
No time to love or be loved
in this strange city of sleepless nights.
Monday, 31 August 2015
In spite of all claims of development and progress, we are still a bigoted society trapped in medieval mentality. The retards who killed an old scholar in cold blood for his irreverent views on religion may also garner support from many bigots and fanatics for being the keepers of faith. Just like the killers of rationalists in Bangladesh.
Today it was the old frail man. Tomorrow it may be me. Day after it will be you. Where do we take refuge ? The wall of indifference can just support our back. It will not protect us from the bullet or chopper which the assassin has ready for us. Make no mistake these killers or their backers are no better than the IS or Taliban.
I will laugh away the secular ideology as "Sickular". Trash the liberal outlook. Dump the nonbelievers as enemies of faith. Time is just ticking away for me.
Monday, 17 August 2015
The Mughal Dynasty ruled a vast part of India for about 300 years. The grave of the first ruler Zahiruddin Muhammad Babur is at Kabul, Afghanistan and that of the last ruler Bahadur Shah Zafar is at Yangon, Myanmar. Strange are the ways of history.
Babur himself lost his kingdom and lived a life filled with battles to establish an empire across India. His descendant Bahadur Shah lived a life of ignominy, first as the heir to a fading dynasty, then as a nominal ruler and finally as an exile.
Babur, inspite of his life of a warrior and ruler was also a man of letters. He has written poetry and journal. And Zafar is of course remembered for his Urdu poetry.
The Indian culture has benefitted from the Mughal rule in the realms of art, architecture, literature and allied fields. The best example perhaps is the birth of Urdu language which was not region specific in origin like other languages.
The epitaph of Bahadur Shah Zafar itself is a famous poetry often rendered as a Ghazal by many worthy singers, notably among them Begum Akhtar.
लगता नहीं है जी मेरा उजड़े दयार में
किसकी बनी है आलम-ए-नापायेदार में
बुलबुल को पासबाँ से न सैयाद से गिला
क़िस्मत में क़ैद लिखी थी फ़स्ल-ए-बहार में
इन हसरतों से कह दो कहीं और जा बसें
इतनी जगह कहाँ है दिल-ए-दाग़दार में
इक शाख़-ए-गुल पे बैठ के बुलबुल है शादमाँ
काँटे बिछा दिये हैं दिल-ए-लालाज़ार में
उम्र-ए-दराज़ माँगके लाए थे चार दिन
दो आरज़ू में कट गए, दो इन्तज़ार में
दिन ज़िन्दगी के ख़त्म हुए शाम हो गई
फैला के पाँव सोएँगे कुंज-ए-मज़ार में
कितना है बदनसीब “ज़फ़र″ दफ़्न के लिए
दो गज़ ज़मीन भी न मिली कू-ए-यार में
Saturday, 15 August 2015
Is there any justification to take all crticisms to heart needlessly. Won't it be better to instead calmly evaluate the bitter words of others to see if there is a grain of truth in them somewhere. This can be a good practice and one that should be continued. While we may not be in the mood to tolerate any injustice, we can try to forgive those who have wronged us and thus be able to refrain from stoking the ember further, to raise the flames of enmity. Fire ultimately burns everything. Be it one's house or the mind.
No way to forget you;
even being away has not helped.
Alive in my heart you remind me
with every beat;
how much I miss you,
at this very moment.
What is the reason for this longing
and how to let myself free.
No way to explain
why this is happening to me.
All the desires that I feel,
a caged bird flapping its wings.
In a crowd of known memories
these unknown sensations beckon.
Making it so difficult to forget
the story that should have ended
Sunday, 9 August 2015
My experience with Vipassana.
Let me mention a few points about Vipassana before I begin. Firstly a Vipassana course cannot be bought. It is free of charge, including the food and lodging. Secondly Vipassana is not a religious cult or ritual. Thirdly it is not an exercise schedule or detoxification procedure for the body.
It is a actually a technique for meditation to purify oneself from within and attain a higher plane of life. Often spelt as #Vipassana , the real word should be spelt as #Vipashyana which is literallly derived from Sanskrit / Pali words ''Vishesh'' meaning ''special '' and ''Pashya'' which means '' To See''. This seeing actually denotes seeking or perceiving. Remember the famous dialogue from the movie Avataar- I see you. So it is actually the art of seeking. And this seeking is done within to cleanse the soul of impurities by locating the cause of strife in the unconscious layers of mind through the examination of sensations of the body. It is complex in its concept , simple in its explanation and understanding and rigorously difficult in practice for initial followers.
This is the method of meditation which is said to have been followed by Gautam Buddha to attain Nirvana (or Nivvana) and has been nurtured and kept alive by a sect of Buddhist monks in Myanmar. Mr S D Goenka learnt it from the Master Shayagi U Ba Khin in 1955 and has been authorised to teach it since 1969. He has since being spreading the technique and the message through the various centres and disciples who are authorised to conduct such courses. This technique of meditation came into limelight in 1994 when under Kiran Bedi a big push was given to use it as a therapy on the inmates as well as the personnel of Tihar Central Jail.
There are a lot of literature and articles available on the subject and I will therefore not elaborate further. Better to be discreet and let others wonder about my ignorance rather than write and clear all doubts about it. I will write about my experiences only as I realised.
First thing to ponder upon is that this is a meditation technique and there should not be any short sighted prejudices to link it with conversion to the Buddhist faith. Though it has undeniable roots in Buddhist philosophy, it can be practised by people of any faith, even atheists, animists and communists too as the concept is universal and without bringing God or religion into it. I have a very rudimentary idea of Gita and Bible and found that a lot of echo from them can be found in Vipassana. It is not a religion by itself and thankfully, till now, is not a much hyped cult because of its rigorous initiation process.
I myself has been mildly interested in Vipassana, since 2009 and twice made unsuccessful attempts to join the 10 day preliminary course, at Igatpuri in 2011 and Gorai.inq
2013. This time, very interestingly , with the small bit of irony thrown in, I completed the programme at Dhamma Vipula located on Parsik hills at an aerial distance of not more than 4 kms from my residence. I was determined that I would not keep this decision pending anymore and so keeping G-secs, Nifty, Oil, Rupee in whatever state of volatility they were, office works in whatever state of pendency they were, ignoring a shift of office premises, disregarding family matters and any such other excuses which could justify a change of heart, I took the plunge. Enough of attaching too much importance to my existence for the family, office and society at large. When responsibilty starts overwhelming you, its time to step aside and do something for yourself and let the world sort itself out without your help or participation. And what the hell, this was not a session of Thai massage or any such frolic that I was planning to do. I deserved to break away. It sounds selfish, I know but definitely not self indulgent.
Sometimes we treat the words Karma and Dharma for our own use as it suits us. We don't believe in them fully. But today itself something opened my eyes.
While waiting for leaving from Dhamma Vipula , I called a cabdriver whom I generally call for pickups and drops from and to airport or office, parties, etc. Luckily he was on road at Nerul. He came to pick me up and looking at my unshaven beard asked me what was the matter. I explained him the whole thing during my short ride to home.
Reaching home when I put my hand in the trouser pocket to pay him, he just stopped me by holding my hand and refused to accept money saying I was returning from a good cause.
I was really stumped by his goodwill gesture.
Yes, good Karma begets positive vibes. I now belive it fully.
Wednesday, 22 July 2015
that makes me try
to reach you with every breath of mine,
in a last minute attempt to stay afloat.
Still somehow , I sink deep and deeper.
Before I can reach you.
I kneel down in my prayer to worship you
for my salvation.
Without you these wretched blues for me.
this emptyness of abundance.
Deliverance , only you can give it .
Hold my hands , for that little while
make me feel that solace ,
I keep on searching for
through out this tiring journey.
Before I can reach you.
My eyes, burdened with sleepless nights
seek you everywhere .
Keeping vigil with me are the stars
they know how long it has been;
this voyage of mine across the seas.
I have trekked the deserts and hills
all in my obsession .
Before I can reach you.
Thursday, 9 July 2015
blowing across my face
I dream , I still manage to dream
with wide open eyes
Some stolen moments with clouds
flitting across the sky
The lush green carpet that beckons
with an inviting smile
From between the leaves of tall trees ,
the sunlight winks at me
Now I'm sure that this trail
will lead me to my destination
Somewhere around the bend
there will be the small white cottage
and you will be standing at the gates
waiting for me in a bright blue dress.
Tuesday, 7 July 2015
Don't try to find a reason for everything
for nothing is like what it seems to be.
Even the colours of rainbow
are not its own .
Mingled in the final embrace
in a desperate attempt to find consolation.
The make believe world of shadows
that obscure the splendid ruins.
All of these and more
are tales of some bygone times.
So is it with the capricious notion of love
in a moment of indulgent fancy.
Reaching you across the schism of time
was somehow not possible for me .
There is no place that I had with me
to cage those birds of many hues. .
So I have set them free
in the midst of the desolate wilderness.
Never looking back to see
how they cross the gulf of aimless desire.
Monday, 6 July 2015
Listen carefully to the rustle of falling leaves,
doesn't it remind you of some landslide
along the banks of a flooding river.
Silently and steadily, something breaking away,
without even a chance to make it stay.
This way the world changes around us.
We never realise how much.
Somewhere inside, the trickle of blood,
seeps through unnoticed, until its too late.
Saturday, 4 July 2015
Remembrance of things past keep haunting me.
They just don't allow me to stop yearning for you.
This lonely heart flutters and cries within,
how do I calm it through this lovely night.
For wrecking me so often in my thoughts,
how do I return your favour ?
What do I call you , how to spell your name ,
my precious darling or just my love.
whatever I do in my life again .
The name that is carved on my heart
how do I show it to this whole world .
Thursday, 2 July 2015
On this sleepless night ,
cover my eyes with dreams.
I will wait for the dawn to break,
with its myriad glow of light.
Collect them in my outstretched palms
and then, share them with the sky
with the flight of a humming bird
into the horizon,
into the wild blue yonder.
Let it be my flight of fantasy
let it make me happy
even if it's for this sleepless night .
I will settle for the unreal , for a change,
I will wait for the dawn to break.
Wednesday, 1 July 2015
Something has changed with my life
something new has happened to me
after I met you on that fateful day.
What have I lost , or did I gain ;
amidst all my scrambled thoughts
I stand and feel your presence
here , there and everywhere.
Bright as the sunshine
and soft as the young leaves,
on which it shines so brilliantly.
In the cascading waterfall
I find your wanton smile .
My days have changed and my nights too
the sky also looks so different to me.
the stars wink at my muddled state
as I find the moon reflects you.
The books those I read smell of you,
every page has your name written on them.
Something has surely changed
after you walked into my life.
Monday, 8 June 2015
The curious case of the missing third lady.
Pardon me if it sounds like the title of some hackneyed detective novel. Now that we all have seen images and heard about how our great leader has handled the two ladies, Mamata and Haseena so adroitly. No doubt,on the face of it, the Bangla trip can be treated as a success. Though how much groundwork was done by the previous government is a matter of value research.
But amongst all the euphoria of good vibes generated by our PM's Bangladesh visit and his success in getting multiple agreements signed, one wonders, where was our foreign minister ?
Can the learned ones please illuminate on this ? Or do you want to dismiss this as the ravings and rantings of a nitwitted nit picker ? Let's do it the yoga way baby. Take a deep breath and stay cool. Such nit witted Gauls were there even under the great Roman empire ( courtesy Herge')
By the way, I read today that the Director (??) of the Indian cricket team has opined that there is no need of a coach for the Indian cricket tea. Perhaps he is the follower of the great Ian Chappell theory- " A coach is what the team travels in ". Maybethe time has come for the director of the Indian government to announce oe fine day that there is no need of a foreign minister.
Tuesday, 2 June 2015
The long wait to receive some bad news
from the postman on a hot summer afternoon.
That knock on the wooden door will mean
the beginning of a new spell of grief.
Nothing of this would have happened ,
but the stream of tears that wet the eyes
with all the baggage of exiled shadows of gloom;
they somehow conspire to break free .
All promises are void in the zone of darkness
spreading from the seat of eternal hope.
Illuminated faces of majestic magicians
can be so misleading for the starry eyed flock.
The messiah is long gone ,
in fact he was the first one who fell
to join the pantheon of fallen leaders .
Fend for yourself now , don’t expect any help
there will be no good news for you
in the sudden ring of the telephone at midnight.
Saturday, 30 May 2015
The latest statistical obsession appears to be the body count of people dying in the heat wave across the country.
Its really sad that the extreme heat conditions have taken such a toll of human lives. Surprisingly, the south eastern part seems to be very badly affected as compared to the north western part where high temperatures in summer is taken to be the norm.
Waiting for the monsoon to provide the much needed cooling showers. Then again the floods will dominate the statistical tally of lives lost. How much dependant on nature, we are, in spite of all our so called progress.
The real me remains deep and unconscious under layers of conscious interactions shaping the outward personality. Like the mask of make believe over the face of reality. Even the self looks at the mirror of contemporary surround and starts living in the comfort of the created myth. By the way, this make believe or Maya as we call it is not negative. But it is only the way and not the destination.
Wednesday, 6 May 2015
And he has shown his ignorant but arrogant self completely uncovered by commenting that footpath is not anybody's paternal property to sleep upon. What he perhaps means to say that it is the place for drunk rich people to drive their imported cars.
But he is not alone. This type of statements are often uttered by many people in formal or informal gatherings. I have myself heard many such statements from people with whom I associate with. It may take the form of "These slum people'', '' those wretched bastards'', '' saale bhookhe nange '' ''votebank hai bhai '' '' footpathia haramilog'' etc. I don't entirely blame the people who comment like this. Maybe they are vexed by the helpless poverty all around which does not let them enjoy their wealth with a clean conscience. Or may be they really hate to be bracketed as Indians with these unwashed, unwanted floatsam of humanity.
The British had posted notices of '' Dogs and Indians not allowed '' on the doors of elite clubs. Sometimes, I wonder, have we really progressed beyond that mentality. Can't really say. Sometimes these comments make me mad and dream of the bloody revolution that never happened in this country.
I am neither against Salman nor carry any ill-will against him as a person. He committed a griveous mistake, then compounded it into a problem for himself and has been handed punishment by law. I can only pray that it does not happen to me or anyone from my family or friends. But what enrages me is the delay in the process of justice and the sympathy wave from the happy happy set of Bollywood and the glam sham brigade. Nobody is even asking what happened to the family of the dead man. Some are rooting for a process of blood money like Sharia law. What a shameful bunch of people !
And that singer proves that he is a real bastard and has no idea who his real father is.
Sunday, 3 May 2015
But I am happy to note that the all India audience will now experience the talent of my favourite singer, songwriter and music composer Anupam Roy. I am hearing one song from the movie being played repeatedly on the FM channels.
From what I have heard he seems to have overcome the diction problem, which limits many talented Bengali artists from making a mark on the national level ( read Bollywood). His style of music is more dependant on words and the efffects and therefore it may be somewhat difficult for him to recreate the magic which he does so easily in Bengali space. But I believe he will create a mark with his unique style and make everybody aware of his music which is both simple and meaningful at the same time.
Saturday, 2 May 2015
Or is it really so? Behind this gentle madness, lurks a merchandising plan. Everything newsworthy nowadays is exploited for marketing. Or rather the reverse of it. Everything that has to be marketed is made newsworthy.
And note how betting is ingrained in such events like the birth of the second child to the royal couple. First they had a bet on the gender of the baby before her birth. Now they are having one on the name.
I wonder when some complex Derivative product, with all parapharnelia of probablity, volatility and historical curve analysis would be developed to make money on such human behaviour by the financial wizards
Wednesday, 22 April 2015
Politics be damned. How do we reconcile with these people, our own countrymen.
Deaths of farmers by suicide all around the country are just statistics for the administration, issue to be exploited by politicians, News headlines for the media and impotent intellectual masturbation for us all.
But do we realise, do our rulers cutting across party lines realise, do the opinion leaders realise the other aspect of these suicides. All these suicides mirroring helplessness is spreading through the society like a cancerous epidemic. If left unchecked it will not remain confined to the farmers only.
There is a lot of stress,depression and vulnerability all around. If these farmer suicides continue then a day will soon come when people from different sections of the society facing financial loss will chose this as the best solution for them. And repeated instances will have a negative impact on the younger people too. We may believe that all such discussions are just time pass but in fact have lasting effects on the psyche.
So, where are we headed to ? What development are we speaking about ? How long will it take before we begin our walk on the road to perdition ?
Friday, 17 April 2015
Can history, as we know it, be relied upon? Does history represent the viewpoint or rather the bias and prejudice of the writer (s) ? Do people in general really care about history, or is it just an indulgence of the elite ? Is it a fact that what passes as history is largely a myth and accepted according to the prevalent mores and convenience of the contemporary society ?
It is said that history repeats itself. I hope that it will repeat for me and I will regain my interest in it. Till then let history speak for itself.
Thursday, 16 April 2015
But however much they try to roll the four decades back , the world is a different place today . A merger only highlights the insecurities faced individually by all of them ; not from the weakened Hand or the blooming Lotus ; but from the sturdy Broom that has the power to sweep everything away. Writing a fresh chapter of history without understanding the new idiom of politics is just an attempt to hold onto straws while the floodgate opens up.
Make no mistake of the agenda and the concern of these Janata parivar sataraps who are coming together on the platform of convenience and necessity. They are worried about the force of BJP no doubt but actually afraid of AAP or some AAP like regional formation ( if AAP decides not to spread). From the lesson learnt from the Delhi debacle of Congress, these wily power players know that they stand the chance of being thrown to the dustbin of history, not by BJP wave but something which is completely different.
So the hurry and bonhomie for the one last hurrah. Because time is running out for them. The whole space of alternative politics is wide open for a new call.
Tuesday, 14 April 2015
As I sit by the window with a cup of steaming tea savouring the rainwashed surrounding below from my perch, I can also feel the coolness of a light wind entering inside. But strangely I am thinking about the thunderstorm, or rather the absence of it.
Of my ten plus years of existence in Mumbai, I have missed the summer squalls. What we call the Kal-Boishekhi in Bengali. These thunderstorms occur during the summer months of April and May and hence the association with Boishakh, the first month of the calendar. Generally they happen after a scorching afternoon just before evenings and followed by heavy showers. People who have not experienced them will never understand how quickly nature can unleash its fury or appreciate the beauty of its terribleness. The main characteristics of a Kal-Boishekhi is the swift, sudden intensity with the element of surprise always associated with it. In North India it is known as the Aandhee.
The weather along the coast of the Arabian sea, at least the northern part of it is much less dimensional compared to the Bay of Bengal. The near absence of storms may be due to this reason That's why I say one has to experience the Kal-Boishekhi to understand what it is. And preferably not in the city but in a rural setting.
The fury of nature and the calming effect thereafter can be c compared to the mythical Tandav of Lord Shiva in his Rudra manifestation. A real Kal Boishekhi does not only change the weather but can also change many lives in a very short span.
You think I am romanticizing the storm. Just ask the person who misses his train while going for a job interview. The lovers who get caught in a secluded place and have their first kiss on a dark wet evening. Or the widow who loses her husband suddenly due to a strike of lightning, from nowhere.
My childhood was spent with large family at a place called Karandih, in Jamshedpur but at the outskirts of the main township. Almost like Nazafgarh to Connaught Place, if you want a comparison. Four or five decades back it was more of a village with much less of the urban trappings. In front of our modest single stoeyed (then) house by the side of the road on the northern side was a vast space of a barren stretch of Khash (Government) land. On a clear day we could actually see people, vehicles and houses almost two kilometers away over an expanse of eight to ten square kms, on a conservative estimate, if my memory serves me right. Now of course development and Jharkhand has changed the landscape.
My vivid reminiscences of Kal-Boishekhi is shaped from my childhood experiences. Some times I have been caught in this storm while coming home from school or while playing with friends on the field. In the inocence of childhood, I used to run in an attempt to beat the storm before it reached our house and was always so excited about it. Then sometimes I would run out with our pet dog to retrieve our cow and her calf grazing in the fields.
Animals always had a better idea about the impending storm, I realised whenI was a child. They would be homewards and under a shelter much before the squalls hit. Be it the sparrows or the cows. And invariably before the storm, there was a rush by my mother and aunts to fetch the dry clothes and pickle jars from outside. Then all the doors and windows were securely bolted. As explained earlier, our house had to bear a heavy brunt of the storm due to the vast open space in front of it.
Mostly these storms disrupted the electric supply. So it was dark inside. From a vantage point behind a pillar or a half open door we used to see the approaching storm with our heads covered by a scarf or gaamchha leaving only slits for the eyes. And after the storm subsided, there would be a shower accompanied by thunder and lightning . Sometimes there would be hailstones and we used to run to collect them inspite of warnings.
The best part for us the young ones was the evenings, when one by one the men folk would return ith their tales of the storm in the town and getting caught in it. And good old DVC was always there to support us by the discontinuance of electric supply. So minimal studies and participation in the evening adda of the adult family members around a lantern or a kerosene lamp. Some ghost stories from an obliging uncle or an aunt. What a life it was.
Later in my life also I have witnessed these storms in varying degrees of turbulence and enjoyed them or got inconvenienced by them. But I still miss the feeling of the ten year old boy running ahead of the approaching storm on a vast field against the backdrop of a darkening sky. Let that be the symbol of my life.
Monday, 13 April 2015
at some point in all our lives, perhaps,
there will be no more needs to fulfill .
Only the burden of the tired existence
to be carried as a daily routine
through each of the exhausting days
sucked into the flow of a filthy rotten drain .
But people, in all their cleverness,
adjust to everything and make simple rules
to avoid the stink of the rotten garbage.
Scented handkerchiefs cover the nostrils
while passing morgues , denying its existence
or maybe lifting the window panes
of your air conditioned car helps.
All of these and more ways to avoid
even as the decaying putrid corpse ,
lie inits elusive naked loneliness.
It has no more needs to fulfill .
Saturday, 11 April 2015
don't even know if I ever can.
Still when I saw your lovely face
smiling to the world
from the perfect picture.
I realised why there will always
be a reason to feel happy.
You reminded me again,
there are things beyond this world
right on this earth.
We miss them everyday.
I was aware again ,
how much time we waste
defining selves through relations
of blood, mind and body.
then forget to honour them.
To worship, humans need a God.
With you, there is no reason
for me to chose a God of my own.
I can worship you anytime
wherever and however I want to.
Friday, 3 April 2015
Whether Saradindu Bandyopadhyay was influenced by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle to create Byomkesh is a debatable point. But it is clear that Dibakar Banerjee kas tried to emulate Guy Ritchie to direct this movie on the style of the two recent Sherlock Holmes offerings on screen.
Dibakar Banerjee has tried to give a new spin altogether to the Byomkesh saga. But he has tried too hard. And experimented too much with the script. So inspite of good direction, photography, location, costume and period atmosphere, the film lacks the basic soul. In spite of a farfetched but plausible yarn the story loses its way at many points and fails to keep the audience from drifting away. This, in the case of a detective story is unpardonable.
This movie is a lesson for everyone to undetstand why music, particularly background music is so important for a film. Here , whatever hopes of redeeming the movie could remain has been dashed by the jarring and experimental music which has no relation or connection with the scene or the moment.
In acting department , Swastika Mukherjee stands out with her screen presence. Sushant Singh Rajput as Byomkesh has acted well but his character itself is different from what we know as Byomkesh. In the search of creating something new , the cerebral quality of Byomkesh has been sacrificed . Other actors are competent and carries along the support as per the requirement of the script. The characters are as created by the writer and the director has taken wide liberty to present them as per his perception .
I really don't know if I am too harsh because I believe all creative people should enjoy a degree of freedom to present their views. Here , the whole movie has been based on experimentation, some of it quite bold. But my personal feeling is that somewhere along the line Dibakar Banerjee fell prey to his self indulgence . His presentation is neither a good detective story or an action thriller. It does not keep you glued to the screen or the seat.
I failed to connect with the movie. It left a boring taste overall. A few days back I had watched another Byomkesh movie in Bengali directed by Anjan Dutt. It was better. And a regular Bengali serial on Byomkesh is being shown on TV. I like my Byomkesh a little old fashioned and in sync with the story. Sorry but this was a bad experiment both from Dibakar as a director and me as a viewer
Wednesday, 1 April 2015
Sunday, 22 March 2015
I could stay back and analyse them,
one by one .
Now that I have left it all,
it is difficult to return .
No reasons , no excuses ,
not even a need to find out why ?
A cloud that has passed
without the promised rains;
lost somewhere in the skies.
Point of no returns
that develop in every story ,
this way , told or untold.
With time running away
and so much of it just wasted .
No one remembers how ,
when the break happens .
Ever so silently, along the banks
of the flowing river.