A Solitary....

Reaper or Huntsman???
Doesn't it sound like another of those delightful poems...

Just a-little-over-22 hours of flying from Mumbai to LA and I can proudly announce that I have almost conquered my paranoia of flying (well, almost!).

I did not expect such a warm embrace from California; the arid wilderness is nothing different from rural Telangana . The feeling I get is similar to the one where I'm frantically searching for something and suddenly realize that I've forgotten what it is. And yes, I do start making those little columns in my head listing the differences between the East Coast and the West Coast (and the absence of the Fall colors here makes me want to view the few scattered trees through my pretty-pink sunglasses always).

But coming back to the delightful poem I was talking about ,I feel like I'm the muse of such poems.
In a blissful world of total solitude with no mobile phones, no messengers popping on my screen , no familar people and almost no mails (here, I’m not counting the work related ones) I suddenly find
Wordsworth resurrected in my senses.

Before I take off on any more of my sententious monologue, let me present something which appeared immensely to my senses -
– A story in half a dozen words and attempt I would

Orchids looked beautiful, on his grave.

The garbage overflowed, with female fetuses.

He killed her, with his humor.

For better ones look here.

I wish this would mutate into one of those tags that go around the blogworld, I humbly request all those kind souls who have read this to please consider it in all the seriousness of a tag.

(I promise I wouldn't subject you through any more inane posts, until I get over this blissful state of affairs )