Coming back to home turf , I retired my aggressive ambition in favour of Nature pouring rains on my parade. I curl up on bed and sleep, I spread myself lavishly and sleep, I sleep like a dead log. Sleeping it off or tying up my faculties in a bundle and not bleeding words or action anymore.
This year is gonna be difficult if I don’t let the cooling happen like it should. Any sign of struggle will set back my repentant mind a few years back thus bring walls down and deluge. Therefore a sweet surrender to words I write in hope of living them out.
Otherwise, these chain of words will become my own enemy. I have to air them out and turn them into a comfort blanket for the time being. That way I can shed the weight of over written life that drowns like a salt bag, heavier in its drenched state. The ocean of my dreams must not turn any more Saltier.
This is where I am at and it will be like that for sometime.