It will be a fearless, mindless, spineless lie if I say I have  never missed being with my rags and riches .

For ages, some conflicting emotions gave many a sleepless nights, when I found my throat parched, my soul weary and my eyes watery.

The fact that I had left an integral, vital ,incredible part of my life in a yonder-land was far from my threshold of acceptance. I was ready to deny access to any thought that might occur-just-by-the-way –when I was a different person.

A had been , merely.

Do I identify myself in the mirror which reflects an opportunist , who sold her soul to gain some pieces of bread? Ahh, the BREAD! The survivor’s only excuse to kill for the sustenance of the body.

But what about the soul, which needs to be clothed in fancy even if the body is thread-bare? I do wear my attire , that fits snugly and  nicely. I live in a suburban delight of a maintained abode. The neighborhood is no short of a spectacle of a serene heavenly abode.

Yet…ah, the all so consuming yet,..

The bygone places and the kindred souls to dwell upon , shall never be WON AGAIN, as there is still a lot that DWELLS UPON ME !