Khorampa*

There was mela** of fogs atop
 
 and around the hill.
 
 
 Unknown that was to me
 
 why the fogs chose the place for the mela
 
 under the porch of sunbeams.
 
 
 I chose none to ask
 
 why the wind was blowing there
 
 chasing the fogs.
 
 
 Felt like asking
 
 why Khorampa chose to stand ill-at-ease there.
 
 
 But,
 
 this too I asked not.
 
 
 Why lives chose to be housed
 
 in the hills of unease?
 
 Where life sets out for a journey,
 
 the end unknown to itself.
 
 and
 
 keeps going filled with wants,
 
 towards an unknown horizon.
 
 
 Then it ends, known to none.
 
 at times being crushed under the rocks.
 
 at times falling downhill to eternity.
 
 at times being washed in the flood to the point of no arrival.
 
 
 I asked none
 
 why life ends in ways uncertain.
 
 
 Khorampa,
 
 yet, exists there with lives yet to drain.
 
 no reason I sought for its continued existence.
 
 
 The reason, I guess,
 
 is just that
 
 an uneasy rhythm of life
 
 is more life like than an easy death.
 
 
 
 
 .................................................................................................................