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![Image for the poem Somewhere, SomeTime](/images/uploads/poemimages/516494.jpg?1720378751)
Somewhere, SomeTime
I always find my alter ego, whenever i roam the rocky hills, or skipping right out from home, into
the pine forest on the village fringe, where the pure breeze inspires the pastoral themes..
where life in its prime tells the truth, the wisdom and the sincere feeling.There ! is my Home !
i sat on the hilltop watching the tiny village stretching below,"my bled" lost in a foggy silent indolence,
where carelessness and dark interests breed inside empty coffee shops, and shady nooks; and dark corners....
where kids in their blooming age reap what the bad ones have sown and still sow in barren lands,......
A spot in the crossroads of apathy and desolation, is prone to be overflowed with killing rains,
if winter then is waist-deep in troubled dirt, and much more layers of past debris,
layered like a a colossal heap through the past bloody decade....
Romance can take a very sad brush, painted with grey and melancholia, or a monochrome hue, sepia,
when the countryside's canvas loses it charm to the ugliness of cement echoless walls,
an obstruction in the face of beauty and oxygen, Within a white noise, teeming with deafening cacophony:
" costermongers,beggars,ambulant vendors, wreck vans of potatoes, and so many used gadgets, to be recycled,
and topped awfully with the muezzin's heaven"s call to prayer.
From a sacred place, now a crossroad of so many a dirt....
Such a contra diction when God's word, when serenity and fear mingle with cries, blares and shouts,
and even bestial roars; all come to play a partition into the symphony of life in my little town,;
A dissonance and assonance of vowels, and consonants, that speak volumes about a social disorder,
A declining society that writes a very long tape of sound affects, recorded on a sound track tape that reflects
loss and oblivion.
What against all that upside down cataclysm could then soften, or at least alleviate the painful reality?
only my words, my balming inked bitter feelings, all my wolf's bane squeezed into rusted chalice,
sipped in small gulps, until the world will look fine and the words and the ugly beings
and all the turmoils and drawbacks, and fiasco will look upside down, just like boon, like blessings,
because simply, its what the word beautiful means, somewhere in a lost Bled located in the middle of nowhere..................
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