Dare I grow Old?

Musings.
Revisiting TS Eliots' Prufrock in Visual Language class
Memoirs of visiting Rotary Old Age Home in Mysore
Indigo train rides to Madras
and longer,whirlwind journeys to smaller towns
And through it all..
Grandparents
still holdin on to the last vestiges of loveliness
Gracefully falling.

Death is the road to Awe

I am the road to awe,not death.

Awe is too far away for death to reach,though they both had the same beginnings.

The road is just a road,and scuffs the burnt souls of your feet,bruises your lips,clouds your eyes,and cocoons your heart.

But I still walk the road to awe,and death smoothly hushes behind.

merry christmas,you sulky cat.

As of now my mind has a marketplace of thoughts colliding into one another and it isnt a pretty sight.
Interesting yes,for there are violent images referring to "I hate men!"declarations(of northindian mites and marshmallow origin),
fond reminiscences of my feline friend slevin(whos turned out to be female,after all),
and caantemplations (as put a hotheaded malyali nigga i know of)
about whether it was a good idea to create a random blog in the first hour of xmas
as per the advice of a literary character from a 19th century poem,known to many as la belle dame sans merci/bonifisheii.Love you narcisstic hotheaded leatherclad bonifisheii,who ironically has permanent xmas 'coloured lights' in her room that 'lighten up' my life..hehehe.
Strawberries and cream come close to heaven when consumed at 11 pm AND procured furitively from a rattling old fridge.
On rawther a serious note I here endeth.
meow and a merry christmas to myself.