Page 24 - Musings 2021
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8

                                          The   View   from   the   Bottom
                                                   Atmesh   Mahapatra
                                                    2019B4A30560P


                                        Now   I   am   seated   in   a   cosy   hillside   cottage,

                                         With   warm   beds   and   a   hot   chocolate   cup.

                                                    Sitting,   I   wonder,
                                          Where   have   the   childhood   days   gone?

                                       Where   there   was   the   excitement   of   the   climb,

                                     The   tingling   cold   that   would   penetrate   my   jacket

                                    The   fine   snow,   that   I   cannot   touch,   yet   feel   through
                                                       My   gloves,

                                          The   fresh   smell   of   the   montane   forests,

                                             The   sight   of   the   town   at   my   feet.
                                      Little   did   I   know   of   the   perils   of   a   real   climb?

                                      With   childhood   innocence,   I   walked   into   a   trap,

                                       Expecting   freedom   from   the   arbitrary   ceiling
                                                 That   the   critics   have   set.

                                       Often,   I   think,   I   belong   to   the   warm   beaches

                                        Often,   I   feel,   I   belong   to   the   safe   farmlands

                                     Often,   I   believe,   I   belong   anywhere   but   the   climb.
                                           Amidst   the   exhaustion   from   the   rest,

                                            I   open   the   window   to   the   Everest,

                                             Where   he   stands   proud   and   tall,

                                      From   whom   many   would   try,   many   would   fall
                                            The   blinding   reflection   of   the   sun

                                             Smirking   at   my   failed   attempts,

                                    But   laughing   harder   at   my   cowardice   to   stay   away,
                                            Challenging   me   to   attempt   again.

                                                    What   if   I   scale   it?

                                                     What   if   I   don’t?





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