At first glance, it seemed easy, I, the traveler on a weary road to perhaps fame, I tamed my mind to think in ways one would want to impress, But like a toddler taking baby steps, I fall, struggling to get back on my feet.
The route I took seemed all too ready to steady that feet, Through stumbling tears, I made my smiles just as effortless, I cried first, then I laughed, Isn’t laughter sometimes created from tears?
The road was long, the road was windy, The road took me to eternity, I wondered at some point if I would reach eternity, yes, eternity, But stop I did not, I traveled through time, I traveled through eternity.
There were days when I thought “not a second to waste,” Until one day I realized that it took time to reach eternity, It was the long road I had chosen, Through much travail, none of which man can know or hear of.
I trudged with time on the long road to eternity once, Right now, I face, I stare ahead, I have not seen the end, No, there is no end, I have only been on the trail to the “beginning.”
Sometime in 2020, the world changed its order. People began to take stock of the way they lived and started a revolution by prioritizing what was essential to living proper lives.
A change in mindset changed the ways of Man and it came with the first lessons in humility.
The arrogance that they controlled the lives of their species was denounced by a virus.
We fell powerless into the hands of a pandemic. We then recount that life is as fragile as a
shard of glass.
Unlike the days when we believed that luxury and comfort ruled the universe, now we learned to go back to the basics, to the kampung style of simpletons and songs, of planting seeds and raking love.
Homes became the center-point of all activity. Conglomerates fell to mediocrity and life took on a new meaning sans insider trading!
I hope you enjoy the story. I know I walked a thousand miles to fill the pages of an
epic for you.
Thank you.
Does Nature Discrimate the Downtrodden?
I watch the villagers come out when the weather gets cool in the evenings, looking up with eager eyes for signs of rain, praying that their crops are safe and don’t wither under the persistent scorching sun.
Seeds dying even before they sprout are as common as the dust-filled roads that mar the paths they tread upon. Their animals, bared of flesh, are constantly in their minds. Their bony form requires nourishment and water so that they can turn the soils of the land and be a source of staples.
Can Yearning Hearts Be Pacified With A Touch of Beauty Instead?
But when has beauty been enough to feed a body and soul? Not even the constellation can dazzle so as to silence an hungered heart.
Sparse rain in areas of the poor reek of discrimination even by nature.
“The dry winds blew dust, while the unbearable heat parched our throats and body. The sweat that dripped from our bodies was as sparse as the water that we drank each time we couldn’t stand the heat.”
Another Epic Story crafted By Shobana Gomes, the author of Amazon’s No.1 best-seller, under Ancient & Classical Literature, The Goddess of the Himavan.
Not a single drop falters, from the clouds above deceiving,
Retreating as the wails recede,
in hunger, in thirst, to a dry ground that grows nothing,
They move away, leaving arid lips, bone-dried and cotton-mouthed,
to believe they that are fed by the rain, are consecrated by blessings
of anointing.
-shobana-
Date of Publication: 24/02/2023
On Amazon & Kobo
Gary saw that I was quiet, and came to sit by my side. “Everything will be fine, Talia. Don’t worry too much when I am here for you,” he said, sensing that I was disillusioned and unhappy.
I held his hand in mine. “Where is the rain, Gary,” I asked, my voice solemn as with the whole situation we were facing. Gary seemed to know what to do and have all the answers, so I wanted to know from him where the rain was when we needed it so badly.
Gary looked at me. I knew that he was thinking of something to say. Possibly something positive so that I don’t lose hope, and keep up the spirit of fighting all our travails as and when it comes knocking at our door.
The heat made us lethargic, so we sat down on the wooden floor, legs spread out, and tried to make ourselves as comfortable as possible.
Gary spoke after a long time of finding the right words to say.
“The rain evades people like us who live our lives waiting for rain. I know they lie between those clouds somewhere, laughing at us and our constant prayers for its descending. Like it is some mighty God that has the right to provoke us to poverty-stricken life. The rain doesn’t care if we live or die, Talia. It doesn’t care if the animals thirst like us, or if the rivers dry up. It doesn’t care if the seeds die before they sprout, or if the grounds cry out for water, parched and cracked. It watches us and moves away because it believes that we will constantly seek it like an anointing. It plays hide and seek as we used to when children. The rain is as dishonorable as the clouds that hold them. They don’t care if the world below is wrecked in drought or burnt to a crisp. They belong to a higher world. The rain doesn’t care for you and me. The rain waters the ones most undeserving, people, who have it all. Haven’t we witnessed it throughout our lives?”
There was so much truth in what Gary said, and the bitterness in his voice was so glaring that the three of us listened, hurting for him inside, hurting for us, and hurting for our land the most.
Mama stifled a cry as his words rang true. I clung to Gary’s hands for comfort. “Yes, I can see that Gary, thank you,” I said, startled at Gary’s explanation about the rain. I felt the same way too, I told him. I hated those rain clouds with a vengeance!
SIMPLY SHOBANA 
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