Aaah… Another rainy depressing day on the Island. The mind wanders far and wide and stumbles upon myriad things. Another prose another word… another life and another soul.
How does one start counting his/her accomplishments without ever having lifted a finger to do anything? The clutter outside, becomes the clutter inside and the space around envelopes the “distort”.
What will I miss the most? The nights of “dum maro dum”, the nights in the grid, the days of being called “Rasheeta”, the days of playing UNO like there is no tomorrow.. The last months of freedom before being thrown into the wheel of life to become another spoke, to be taken away to the distant land of sweat and the grind. The days of counting ducks, watching sunrise before calling it a “night”, Sunset at 4 to Sunset at 11… Changing clocks. Sending postcards back home… long quiet walks with myself thinking of what lies ahead?
It really doesn’t end here, and it shouldn’t