When I was a schoolboy and was given my own room, I established the Republic of Rumia with myself as sole inhabitant and Supreme Dictator General For Life. Rumia was where my imagination was fertilised, where my toy animals became a reserve forest, where my cars had a highway built for them, and where I was king, rebel, police, pirate...anything I wanted to be. Rumia disappeared when we moved away to a smaller house. It is for me the natural name for my blog.
Ink ripples on mirthless quietude.
Ash turns to silver
The river gleams in the first sun,
then yields to blinding white,
absorbing sweat, blood, tears, bullets, orphaned cries.
And the ashes.
The river flows on.
My pen trawls a bottomless pit
(c) Alaka Yeravadekar
(I can put this on my vlog because Alaka made it from themes I had explored in some haiku I had sent her).
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