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Where does the climb end?
I’m standing strong and bold on the battlefront:
From the deck of a blue hill
Adorned with saffron, orange, and green,
I squint at the point
Where heat waves merge with the cloud channel,
And blur the horizon
Like a greasy handprint on glass.
A baby camel, a desert creature,
With ability to stroll across an arid landscape
With a wobbling load strapped to its back
And not a single drop of water
Crossing its lips for days.
Without hesitation,
I walk into the unknown mountain.
Because of details lost in translation,
And the fluid way people seem to materialise and then disappear,
I often don’t recognise the important –
Who is forever,
A stern someone
Who brakes for every bird on highway,
And crawls over the notebooks
Bouncing around the bedroom.
Up to my waist in spring sounds,
As warm and relaxing as chai,
I chant “Water, water…mine…”.
My vision and my target are clear.
I will persist till I see it.
To find out how, I must continue
This walk in the skies.
A camel,
I refuse to talk, walk or sleep
Without seeing the sun.
I will hear not those who weep and complain,
For their disease is contagious.
I join the sun-searchers,
Reaching the summit of thousand kisses high –
Is it a destiny?