Somber Reflections from a lodge in Keylong
I put my foot outdoors from a lodge, with frozen toes.
There's snow all around, where to walk?
My feet ache and bleed as I walk down an untrodden path,
against my intuition, upon my call.
There, in a valley where time runs two hours ahead,
how do you manage to arrange a call?
And that's all I get, after all I've asked for.
In winters I shall never be warm, and remain stale, cold, docile,
and socially uninformed—
that is my fate for as long as I delay learning to walk
without a crutch to fall upon.
Here, apathy runs in the veins—this is the plague.
I seldom wish to have never grown to want and embrace a worn soul,
or a person that's strived against their will for all day long.
I’ve come to realise that it’s difficult to be free,
and act however I shall wish, instead of taking in debt, as guilt.
Even if all my senses and rationale derail the validity of my weariness and void,
I wish to spend a portion of my life in apprenticeship, in love, living a life.
To find a real reason to laugh, or the courage to go out on walks,
or be indifferent to the apaths on the roads—subtly wishing for them
to work out their ways, and arrive on the pier where I boarded this boat.
With you. I realised that desire is inevitable, but restraint is must.