Is it possible?
Is it possible to be in the middle of ‘’corrida de toros’’,
without a shed of blood on ‘’traje de luces’’
or to be involved in all worldly affairs without getting really involved,
keeping your soul intact & pristine
Our house, it was not built of bricks and mortar but was made of people. Every morning Grandpa’s Sanskrit chanting in my deep sleep was bliss. There was Grandma giving instruction to virtually everyone while plucking flowers for worship. I can still imagine Mom in the kitchen, preparing breakfast and tea at the same time helping my Dad find his stuff before he starts his arduous day. Every morning there was clamoring of utensils and people speaking simultaneously. All this commotion was never a turn down but a sweet music to the ears. Our house still holds these sound vibrations.
Every festival, small or big, was yet another excuse for uncles, aunts, cousins to get together not just to celebrate but to catch up on latest in their respective lives. Our house was not just full of guests but also with sweet smell of delicacies which were unique for each festival. There was no telephone, internet, facebook or any other modern communication paraphernalia but still our house was witness of a connection between all of us.
Now time has passed and our house is changed so is our life. Now the entire globe is our house. The medium to express love has changed but our house still witnesses the same warmth.
This post is my contribution in Daily Prompt: Our House challenge
Lonely on the land I walk,
Lonely cross the sea I sail,
Lonely air of beach I stroll –
This lonely life doth take its toll.
Lonely trek of woodland trail,
Lonely mist in haze o’ dawn,
Lonely spies the bird of prey
In lonely circles all astray.
Lonely be the dark of night
When sleep is but a yearning wish,
To dream of sweet companions close,
As wine would pair with diner’s dish.
Lonely do these thoughts me make
That draw my blood of precious life;
Replace with stream of flowing pain
To bless my veins with coursing strife.
Lonely years are now my friends,
Lonely cries bereft of sound,
Lonely tears that cool my face
In lonely life of sullen pace.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
All rights reserved