The reasons for writing on this blog have been plenty. From heartbreaks to soaring romances, from quaint pondering to cityscape cacophony, and from shades of sorrow to rainbows of happiness.
It has been an escape from the reality and pace of life, a lone space with a few occasional visitors who just smile and greet, and then move on. But today I feel that there could be more to it than my personal journeys, it could be about how the airs crash into wonderful turbulence when they originate at different ends, how there's beauty in so many things, and so is sorrow. All we do is observe; there's little we can do to influence the motion of the natural brush we only feel but cannot see.
But does this mean that we just let go of everything? Probably not. The canvas of life is an interactive one, where every footstep could act as a master stroke or ruin the entire panting. It is up to us to define what we want to see as art or as destruction. So why not layer this personal masterpiece with the uniqueness of every breath instead of creating a redundant newsprint that nothing more than an eyesore, see life a little closely and appreciate how the joys and sorrows create the quintessential contrast.
The liveliness in the atmosphere here at the south shore of Lake Mendota in Madison, Wisconsin is beyond amazing. Live Irish music, people dancing with the violin bow and the flute, the soft breeze of the calm lake bidding goodbye to a nice summer are combinations that can seldom be found. As I write this, the tempo of the music is so high that I cannot help but tap my feet. This is the best possible end to a beautifully engaging week I’ve had. What more could a migrant ask of the new place? Tasty food, immensely hospitable people, an engaging education opportunity and a promising two years at this heaven of a town. Things are falling just perfectly in place. Beneath the same sky lies a town, like every other. Swinging between two waves lies a town, like every other. Winds blow here but the air is different; Hearts beat here but the breath is different. As the ducks rest ashore people live some more the magic unfolds with dancing toes On just the same night, this place lives, like no other!
Ever if I had a seed to sow, If I ever had a flower to grow; I’d plough the field where lay my dream, I’d plant a flower with a water stream. As winter frost would freeze the bud, I’d use my breath to break a thud; As summer heat would burn its might, I’d give my shadow, day and night. A little rose would one day bloom, And bring me light through my heart of gloom; I’d wait for that red to remind, That you remain to my heart twined. At the final day, as I lay to rest, The rose shall sit, on my chest; Where your dreams always were, I’d breathe my last, saying me and her. Ever if I had a seed to sow, If I ever had a flower to grow.
On my way, on a shiny day; a tree stood still, on a sloping hill; all alone, nay it moan; its leaves were drying, a few lay dying; some leaves red, some on grassy bed; its age shone, through a pine cone; its crimson dye, caught my eye; i felt so strange, how nice is change!