Rimbick Diaries

A thousand births, if I may ever take,

Then let my soul be imprisoned in these wild and serene mountains,

Where mere mortals thrive over a complex meandering landscape,

Away from all expectations and chaos, let my soul embrace its due solace.

Just being serene is in itself a pristine beauty, I have learnt here,

For you find peace in not chasing but in diving deep as you sit to introspect,

Learning to let go of my pain, as fast as these moody clouds scattering off-season rains,

I sat under the monastery roof, as I cried for my penance and prayed for my happiness.

A mile forth, I met these red dried leaves, that adorned the endless serpentine roads.

Under the trees, not far from where they once spent their green vivacious days,

Spoke out mildly – “You metropolitan fools, who lust and strive for luxurious will-o-the-wisps,

Remember that at the end of it all, true peace is in being interred near where you truly belong”

So, the noon crept on quite fast, as the Sun dove past the north mountain mass,

Cotton white fog, obstinate on its momentum, wet my bedroom floor, as it glided past,

As another dusk arrived, so came a strange silence partially challenged by the local crickets,

Alas! Now melancholy knocked on my door reminding me that it was my last day of stay here.

But as I leave this place having shed my emotional rain, I recite a silent prayer,

To the Almighty, to the worshipped river, and to the revered mountain deities -

What if in my next re-incarnations, I am born to finish any of my unfinished deeds,

Let I am born in these serene mountains that, unlike cities, only hear but never speak.