Running

Running

A man keeps running, deep in the forest He’s fit and he’s clad in an athlete’s garment He passes tall trees and low bush in the valley, he runs on foot paths along winding streams Balanced, well-focused on each step he takes, he bothers least even of his own grand dreams   The one-eyed magpie sits on the footpath reflecting Sublime she is, she goes on with her own daily routine Never is she bothered…

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George

George

That odour, which has a blend of strong smell of cinnamon from Sri Lanka, started haunting me again. It however is surely not cinnamon, perhaps a combination of eucalyptus, perhaps both have a similar smell. That strong odour someway connects my thoughts to George for some reason. George apparently died a few years back and I did not get a chance to see him. The last time I spoke to him over the phone, I…

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