I took a double take as I saw the date on my phone today. July 3rd. How did time move so quickly? Each day at the ashram felt like a week and each week like a month. and here, in my Beloved Karachi, 20 days have moved like a gust of wind.
The movement of a day is lost in a haze of activity. There’s something always leftover for the next day. There’s something or someone always waiting. There’s always this arrogance of a tomorrow coming and yet no one knows better than us how quickly the predictable day can become a minefield to travel.
Feel like a poem, waiting for inspiration, as I search for the heavy monsoon cloud that will finally pour down on us after a year of thirst.