As a very young child, I would try to run and chase the clouds, trying to win in vain against it. My motley of friends and I would run up towards a nearby empty field which had an abandoned flour mill, and conjure our stories about that mill, the ghosts that haunted.We would roll, laugh, push each other, till it would be evening and our mom's would come looking for us...so many many nights and days later, I still want to relish that spirit which I had as a child.We may grow old, but there are some memories which have the magical power of taking us back to the time of innocence...



Tuesday, September 3, 2019

Prologue

Donning the olive green
Lines running deep in pride
Those steely eyes
Hiding a thousand stories

Riding the grey beast
Burden of losses and joy
Those steady hands
Hoarding a million memories

Striding  the vast mountains
Breaths of unknown wonder
Those half smiles
Yearning for a forlorn life

Traversing many a roles
A son, a husband, a father
Those boyish grins
Masking the forgotten ache

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