The Hymn of the Vagabond

There is one incident I look back on
every time I cynically doubt the world.
I remember the crazy old vagabond
who to an extraordinary Faith belonged.
Caught my hand and in trance, had the grey-beard loon,
begun gravely his evangelic tale crazy and long.

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Twilight Reverie

You are suspended 50 feet in the air, the cool air alive with late-summer breeze and tinged with the warm and welcoming riverine scent. You know there is solid ground on two sides, each a quarter of a kilometre away. You feel a strange comfort and satisfaction looking at the tiny cobblestones you are standing on, regular in their irregularity. Is it a sense of honour you feel for being able to stand on this product of immeasurable labour of hundreds, thousands of people? Perhaps not. You do not want to get into deeper narcissistic ideas.

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A Sky

This sky is two skies,
from the open pages of seven storeys.

One a vast expanse, a fallow land;
greyscale, yet polychrome,
the grey fields of life lie tantalisingly,
stretching to pale eternities of truth;
but frozen in their enticing reverie,
the land remains unscathed by time.

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Break Free

Posting this old poem unedited, except for the title which was originally just rikudou.

Bangalore, India; May 2017.

I see them suffering
Like a lone wolf pushed against a cold metal corner
By its inner hidden demons,
For everyone has nasty secrets.

I see them losing control and losing sense
When everyone and everything seem to be plotting against.
All their life lessons for such times
Seem to have lost themselves in Life.

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Dance to a Romance

The immaterial dependence once forged:
a chunk of metal,
the earth itself,
brought to life by earth’s own liquor,
yet a separate free sentience.
A being of compassion and adventure.
Or a rowdy, a bad influence?

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Of Life and Death

https://abagond.files.wordpress.com/2018/10/eratosthenes.png

Of late, when I haven’t been wasting my time on worthless pursuits like YouTube binges, I have been getting in a decent amount of thinking. One of the trains of thought I find myself arriving at repeatedly is perhaps the one thing I fear more than death—

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Under the Auspices of Birds

There is no bigger backing for the claim that birds are Mighty and Majestic (yes, capital M&Ms), than the fact that us humans, to this day, call upon them prior to any major undertaking. “Eh?” you ask? Allow me to elaborate.

Classical Roman society had certain priests who had pretty important roles. So important, in fact, that no major project, public or private, would commence without the involvement of these priests—even war and religion! They were responsible for interpreting the will of the gods, by studying the flight of birds. Different patterns they observed were interpreted as various omens and signs from the heavens.

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On the road

I am at home on the road, helmet-clad.

I am tripping, yet in tune with the world. I am one with myself and my machine.

Detached from my normal life, from the rat race, from the mundane tasks. A simple switch of lenses; wide-angle to macro—a narrow but crisp and focussed field of vision.

Attached to the present—to the self and the machine, and to the world. Attached to being alive, to feeling, and to exploring. The thrill of wanderlust: the adrenaline- and dopamine-fuelled ecstasy; and the sedated high that numbs out the inconsequential. A narcotic? Perhaps.

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3.35 to Budějce

Ending an exhausting yet fulfilling adventure, I board the 3.35 back to České Budějovice. On this return leg of my journey, all the cabins in 2nd class seem to be occupied by at least one weary privacy-seeker. The travellers turn away my optimism all the way to the end of the carriage, and I take a seat in the last cabin containing, unsurprisingly, an occupant in one of the window seats.

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