The paths were like no other
That one would see
Or feel
Around this time of the year
There were monotones of white
And grey
That reflected the golden hues
Of the chiming sunrays
There were also
The marvels of green and blue
From the trees of hope
And the brighter skies too
And tinges of that charming purple
And orange
When the sun peeked across
From the horizon
The beautiful orange spelled
Mystical hymn of things
both spoken
And hidden
For it is all about
The way we perceive
The way our eyes see
And then there is the journey
That our senses take
As we weave
These perceptions in the basket
Of our thoughts
And that is not a journey
That everyone takes equally
There is a journey for you
And another for me
And the paths
Have never been like any other.
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A little back story:
In an event, 3 prompts were given to write a poem within a stipulated time. The prompts were:
1. Any book that you like
2. Any sense (sight, smell, and so on)
3. An occasion (Christmas or New Year's).
I wrote the piece in about 10 minutes. To preserve the essence and spirit of the event, I didn't revise or review the writing. In no way. Not a single word.
So, it is as it was... raw and unfiltered.
My choices:
1. Around the world in 80 days (the journey and the perception of time zones)
Jagyanseni (A well known saga narrated from another perception/ through the journey of that person)
2. Sense: Sight, sense of feeling
3. Both occasions.
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