Pancakes

What if, life felt like the high of a leaf-by-leaf crushed, artfully rolled sublime beauty of a joint, and smelled of saccharine Sunday pancakes? Would you still worry? Maybe? May not! But, would you, eliminate ‘worry’ from your train of thought?
 
I wonder, if not worry, what would you ponder upon at random hours? Would you laugh hard to show the bones on your cheeks? Or would you still think of fundamental truth and all that remains? Would you yet be harsh on life for the choices you made and the belongings you desire? Or would you reconsider trusting your gut for once?
 
Would you yet be afraid of speaking strong and remain loud at heart? Would a ‘longed-for’ hug be a vision of each night’s sleep? And would you wait for November to rain again?

Would there still be a pile of books lying on the shelf? Would you dust the furniture, organize cutleries, cook tehri (an Indian delicacy), and nap in the afternoon, like a Sunday from infancy days? Would you live the dream of writing a book for your wisdom angel?

Or would you spend the evening watching stars, and playing funny memory games? And at dawn, would you love the blue of the riverbed forever? Would you come to the shore, as Koyal (the name of an Indian river) does? A thousand ‘woulds’ would continue.
 
We are sure, pragmatic ways are different. Different than how a flower blossoms in the poems. And maybe a lot different than hugging your pet on Instagram videos. The joys may be momentary, but somehow, the route isn’t. All that leads to oneness is simplicity.
 
If we could contain, we would. Love is the simplest emotion of all.
 
And if in case, all of this is just random poetry or hokum, then we sure are good. And we must fathom by now, life is not joy, akin to an artful joint, akin to saccharine Sunday pancakes, and akin to worry-free afternoon naps of Kasnap (a village in the east of India).

But in that case, is life still making a lot of sense?