The mist missed my attention while I was in Ladakh. Now that I think about it, it was all around playing its solitary games. Following are words of another traveler which I have strung together a tad differently...
Tirelessly tackling the endless curves
There was no turning back.
Backed by an urge we rode,
Seeking a shrouded track.
In a maddening white shroud
Some wandering minds were caught,
Could have been the face of nothingness,
Yet cloaked their every thought!
In a maddening life’s shroud
some wandering lives were caught
Seeking their ten steps to clarity
Mere pawns(in a misty game)....never distraught!
2 comments:
W-O-W...I really like...
Hey,
It's amazing how most of your expressions are so wonderfully fractally self-referential!
Even noir is novel here :)
You intended this or not, this piece brought out the lyrical, mi(y)stical relationship between Mist/Fog and River (=your namesake).
The bond between the two is elemental, archetypal. For the River the Mist/Fog is the perfect foil as ...
parent/progeny
friend/fiend
sibling/rival
suitor/detractor
siren/signal
veil/vestment
As the herald of both its origin and its final destination.
Much like Smoke/Fire. Body/Soul. And sometimes, Love/Hate.
In material terms Mist/Fog is, after all, the River merely letting off Steam !!
When in the past this "wandering mind was caught" up in pursuit of a "face of nothingness" I often found clarity, ironically, in writing about the Vesperal Fog of Caprice.
But rather than my own ham hand writing, allow me this musical response to your lyrical ode to the Mist/Fog :)
Keep 'em coming :)
SurJ
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