Madhu Goteti

Joined August 2021

127 stories

Bio

The thrums in the strums and the delights in the humdrum of life have always fascinated me.

It’s that feast of reason and flow of soul; in all that I see and all that I shall behold!

I am an avid lover of art and philosophy!

Stories (127)

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𝚅𝚒𝚟𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝚂𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊 !
It’s not like greatness catches me ( unawares,) at 3:00 a.m and matches itself to the gift of ease. To me, over the years, 3:00 a.m has become a time of wonderment, where things in mind, run up against each other, and generate something like a dream. But in general, it’s the time of drawing out rather than putting in factual information. Whatever comes out of this —big release, it’s like a mind over matter appease. Though, nothing is short of any real happening as things get projected or even more so —get transformed over this viva la siesta’s screen. But at times, I do, genially fumble, at what-so-ever the mind generates quite unexpectedly. Strange enough, not all that comes out of nowhere, can be conceded as true. To such we attribute a “make belief.” Yes, mind has a unique way of making trial gallops, time and again, swinging into senses, to take on such back lashes of —this or that sensorium medleys. Incognito cogito or whatever we think it is. Grown to a seat beheld or something of that order makes it’s staged entry, as though, it is as it is —a true verdict.
By Madhu Goteti 2 years ago in Fiction
𝕐𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕝 𝕙𝕒𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 “𝕄𝕒𝕪” 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 : 𝕀𝕥’𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕠 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕠𝕟.
To those, Who stand steady, most in need of a season to add that spice to life! Dive! It’s a beautiful thing to observe nature in all it’s forms. But to notice how it emerges to make life more meaningful is often a matter of perspective.
By Madhu Goteti 2 years ago in Wander
𝔼 ℂ 𝕃 𝕀 ℙ 𝕊 ℂ 𝔼
𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕟𝕖𝕨 𝕓𝕖𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ℂ𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕕𝕤𝕥 those cosmic 𝕞𝕒𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤 𝕃𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕦𝕫𝕫𝕝𝕖 𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕘𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕟 𝕀𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕖𝕝𝕕𝕤 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕤 𝕘𝕠 𝕓𝕖𝕪𝕠𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕓𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕧𝕖𝕣’𝕤 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕦𝕖𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕥 goes unseen 𝕊𝕖𝕖𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘ly 𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕟𝕖𝕨 𝕙𝕠𝕡𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕟 𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕣Lane over 𝕠𝕣𝕓𝕚𝕔 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕤 —𝕒𝕤 𝕘𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕒ç𝕒𝕕𝕖s’ faded regime
By Madhu Goteti 2 years ago in Poets
𝔸 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕪 ℍ𝕦𝕘 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 ℕ𝕖𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕪
𝕀𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕟𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕚𝕔 𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕂𝕖𝕟 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕕𝕠𝕠𝕣𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕓 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖’𝕤 𝕒𝕕𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕤. 𝔽𝕒𝕣 𝕒𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕤 🪵 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕒 𝕗𝕖𝕨 𝕗𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕜𝕜𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕤 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕚𝕥’𝕤 𝕚𝕟𝕙𝕒𝕓𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖. 𝔼𝕩𝕡𝕝𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℝ𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕗𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕒 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕕𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖. 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕥 𝕤𝕜𝕚𝕖𝕤, 𝕞𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕞𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕕. 𝕂𝕖𝕟 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕦𝕡 𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕒𝕟 𝕖𝕩𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕖. ℍ𝕖 𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕨 𝕦𝕡 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕗𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕜 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕪 𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕖𝕤𝕔𝕒𝕡𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕤. 𝔸𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕘𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕪𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕦𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡𝕤 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕜𝕖𝕡𝕥 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕒𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕖𝕟𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕤. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕤 𝕚𝕥’𝕤 𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕢𝕦𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕚𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕓𝕝𝕖. 𝕀𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕓𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕥𝕠 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕤 𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕕𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝔸𝕝𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕘𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤. 𝕌𝕡 𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕟, 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕒𝕝𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕣𝕦𝕟, 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕞𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕒𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕤 𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕪 𝕔𝕒𝕤𝕔𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕤. 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕝𝕪 𝕖𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙, 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕦ing 𝕚𝕥𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕦𝕟𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕙ways 𝕠𝕗 𝕟𝕠 𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕤. ℕ𝕖𝕖𝕕𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕒𝕪, 𝕚𝕟 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕧𝕒𝕘𝕦𝕖𝕝𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕦𝕡𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕥𝕠𝕥𝕒𝕝 𝕘𝕠𝕠𝕖𝕪 𝕒𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕘𝕒𝕞. 𝕀𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕟𝕠 𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕢𝕦𝕒𝕤𝕚 𝕚𝕟 𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕒 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕩𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕖𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖. 𝔹𝕦𝕥, 𝕚𝕟 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕖, 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕘𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕒 𝕘𝕙𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥. ℚ𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕖𝕣𝕟, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟 𝕒𝕓𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕕 𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥. And, all 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕤𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕠 ,𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕣 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕤𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕤 𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕒𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕒 𝕤𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕣𝕖𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕖, 𝕤𝕠 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕤𝕠, 𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕕 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕒 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕧𝕠𝕚𝕕 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕙𝕖 was 𝕤𝕒𝕝𝕝ting𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕙, 𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙, 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒 “𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖-𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 -𝕤𝕪𝕟𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕘,” 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕞. 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠𝕘𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕓𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕝𝕚𝕞𝕓𝕤, and 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 —𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕥𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕦𝕝𝕤𝕖𝕤, 𝕨as 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕠𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠n. 𝕀𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒 𝕕𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕖𝕣 transformation. 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕕𝕒𝕪, 𝕂𝕖𝕟 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕕𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕝𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕖𝕗𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕥𝕠𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕙𝕦𝕣𝕕𝕝𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕜 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕝𝕪 𝕤𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕𝕦𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕒 𝟛-𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝟛 𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕤. ℍ𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕚𝕘𝕖𝕠𝕟 𝕞𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕘𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕤 ⛺️, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕥 𝕒𝕟 𝕙𝕚𝕘𝕙 𝕒𝕝𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕦𝕕𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝟚,𝟛𝟘𝟘 𝕞𝕥𝕣𝕤 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕤𝕖𝕒 𝕝𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝. ℍ𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕡𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥, 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕚𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕔𝕙 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕗 𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕡𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕠𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕤 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕠𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕒𝕟𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 ℕ𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕚𝕔 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕝 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕜. ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕤-𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕪 ⛷️ 𝕤𝕜𝕚𝕖𝕣𝕤, 𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕤𝕨𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕪 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕝 𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕝𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕤. 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕪, 𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕪 𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕘𝕖𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙ose 𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕪 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕤.𝔸𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕠𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕔𝕣𝕚𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕕𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕪 𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕟. 𝔹𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕙𝕚𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕚𝕝𝕪 𝕓𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕓𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕝𝕠𝕣𝕖𝕣𝕤. 𝕀𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕘𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕤 𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕣𝕪 𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕒𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕒𝕤 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕙𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕟𝕠𝕣 𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕤 𝕞𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕗𝕦𝕝 𝕒𝕟𝕪𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕝𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕦𝕡 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥 𝕚𝕥, 𝕜𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕡𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕨𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕟 𝕦𝕡𝕠𝕟 𝕚𝕥 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥, 𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕤. ℍ𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕧𝕚𝕧𝕒𝕝 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕥 𝕞𝕒𝕕𝕖 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕝𝕪 𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 the 𝕖𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕡𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕥. ℍ𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕣𝕦𝕘𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕗𝕗𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕝𝕕 𝕞𝕒𝕟’𝕤 𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕓𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕤𝕦𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕝𝕖𝕚𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕪. 𝔸𝕦𝕥𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕨𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕙 𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕥. 𝕌𝕡 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕤 𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕒 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 . 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕞𝕒𝕕𝕖 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕥𝕒𝕡 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕦𝕡𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕫𝕖𝕟 𝕗𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕣 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕗𝕖𝕖𝕥, 𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕦𝕡 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕟𝕠𝕚𝕤𝕖𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝. “ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕙𝕠𝕝𝕕 𝕠𝕟 𝕞𝕖 𝕦𝕡 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕝,” 𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕘𝕒𝕟 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕚𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕜𝕖𝕡𝕥 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕨𝕠 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤—“𝕕𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕝𝕖,” 𝕕𝕣𝕒𝕨𝕟 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕔𝕣𝕚𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕡𝕠𝕟 𝕒 𝕗𝕖𝕨 𝕞𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤 𝕒𝕘𝕠. 𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕖𝕘𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕒𝕤 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕗𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 all 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕔𝕖. ℕ𝕠𝕨 𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕒𝕝 𝕠𝕗 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕗𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕗𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕚𝕖𝕝𝕕𝕤. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕡𝕠𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕥, 𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕡𝕒𝕔𝕖, 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕦𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕤. 𝕌𝕡𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕒 𝕗𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕕 𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕦𝕡 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕙𝕚𝕞. 𝔽𝕠𝕣 𝕒 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕖, 𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙, 𝕕𝕠𝕕𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕥, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕦𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕦𝕡𝕥𝕝𝕪. ℕ𝕠 𝕤𝕠𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕣, 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕚𝕞. ℍ𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕚𝕞. 𝔸 𝕗𝕖𝕨 𝕞𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤 𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣, 𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕞𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕘𝕚𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕧𝕖. 𝔸𝕟𝕤𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕧𝕠𝕚𝕔𝕖𝕤 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟 , 𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕤𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕗𝕗. 𝕊𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕪 𝕗𝕦𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖. ℍ𝕖 𝕗𝕖𝕝𝕥 𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕦𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕪 𝕚𝕟𝕙𝕦𝕞𝕒𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕦𝕝𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕞. ℍ𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕞𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕞𝕪𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕔𝕒𝕧𝕖. 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕥’𝕤 𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖. 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕤𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕦𝕝𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕤. 𝔸𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 —𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕠𝕣 𝕒𝕞 𝕀 𝕚𝕟 𝕒 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞! 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕓𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕥𝕠 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕙𝕖 was 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕧𝕖—𝕂𝕖𝕟 𝕧𝕖𝕙𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕞𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕥owards 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 had 𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕖𝕖. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕟𝕖𝕩𝕥 𝕞𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 , 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕦𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕝𝕪, 𝕞𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕕 him 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 he 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕒 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕚𝕤𝕖𝕤 𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕧𝕖. 𝔸𝕤 𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕖𝕖𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕦𝕣𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣, 𝕙𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕖𝕕 𝕘𝕖𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕚𝕔 𝕕𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕣𝕖 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕘𝕒𝕟 𝕥𝕠 𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕦𝕡 𝕚𝕟 the 𝕘𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝𝕕 𝕓𝕝𝕦𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤. 𝔽𝕠𝕣 𝕒 𝕞𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕒𝕨𝕖. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕦𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕕𝕖𝕗𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕖. 𝕊𝕥𝕖𝕡𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕒 𝕡𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕥 𝕜𝕟𝕚𝕗𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕓𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕔𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤. 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕕𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥?! 𝕤𝕒𝕚𝕕 𝕒 𝕧𝕠𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕔𝕣𝕒𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕦𝕟𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕕𝕖𝕖𝕡. 𝕂𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕝𝕪 𝕞𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟 𝕤𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕕𝕤 𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕠𝕥 engulfed by 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕙𝕚𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕜. 𝕀𝕥 𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕕 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕄𝕒𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕖. 𝕂𝕖𝕟 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕕 sucked 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕒 𝕓𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕨𝕙𝕠𝕝𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕤 𝕘𝕦𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕚𝕥. ℍ𝕚𝕤 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕓𝕠𝕕𝕪 𝕒𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙. ℍ𝕖𝕝𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕝𝕪 𝕠𝕗𝕗- 𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕, 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕘𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕛𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕪 𝕥𝕠𝕠𝕜 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕕 𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕠𝕠 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘. 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕠𝕗 𝕚𝕥 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕦𝕟𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠’ 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕖𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕗𝕗, 𝕒𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕡𝕙𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝, 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕕 𝕣𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕥𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕚𝕟𝕧𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 . 𝔸𝕤 𝕒𝕟 𝕦𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕚𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕖 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕨𝕒𝕪, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕞𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 𝕖𝕩𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕦𝕟𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕘𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕤. 𝔸 𝕧𝕖𝕚𝕝 𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕖𝕪𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕒𝕟𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥, 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕, 𝕦𝕡 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕟, his 𝕕𝕒𝕪’𝕤 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖 —𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕦𝕡, 𝕞𝕠𝕧ed 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕—𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘 —𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕪’𝕤 𝕥𝕚𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕣𝕦𝕟. 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕜𝕖𝕡𝕥 𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘, 𝔸 𝕤𝕝𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕣𝕖𝕚𝕘𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕟; 𝕣𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕪 𝕒𝕤 𝕦𝕟𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕,𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕘𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕤, 𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕟𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕟. ℍ𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕤𝕝𝕚𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 an 𝕦𝕟𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕔𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕖. 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕗𝕒𝕣 𝕠𝕗𝕗 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖, 𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕟𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕤 𝕚𝕗 𝕚𝕟 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕪𝕓𝕕𝕚𝕤 𝕒𝕝𝕝 “𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖.” 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕨𝕒𝕝𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕕𝕨𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟 ,𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕣𝕚𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕒s a 𝕔𝕠𝕠𝕝 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕫𝕖 𝕧𝕖𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕤𝕜𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 —𝕓𝕦𝕥, 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕠 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜, 𝕤𝕨𝕚𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕚𝕟 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕠𝕨𝕟. 𝕋𝕙𝕦𝕤𝕝𝕪 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕜 vicissitudes 𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕖𝕝𝕥 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕥 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕕𝕠𝕠𝕣𝕤 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕔𝕙 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖—𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕠 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕙𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕤. 𝕐𝕖𝕥 𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕟 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕝𝕖apt 𝕒𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕. 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖, 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕝, 𝕤𝕠 𝕒𝕘𝕠𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕠 𝔸𝕜𝕠𝕟 … 𝕥𝕠𝕠𝕜 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟. 𝔼𝕩𝕡𝕝𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕒𝕣 𝕒𝕟𝕕 beyond , 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 as much as 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 , 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕕𝕠𝕟𝕖 —𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕕𝕠𝕟𝕖, 𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕨𝕒𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕒 𝕗𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 he 𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕡𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕙𝕠𝕞𝕖 —𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 all 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕖𝕤 𝕣𝕦𝕟𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 a𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘, much over those 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕤, quite 𝕒𝕗𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕥… 𝕋𝕙𝕦𝕤𝕝𝕪, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕓𝕓 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕜𝕖𝕡𝕥 𝕞𝕠𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 —𝕠𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕟 ; Yes, 𝕠𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕖𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘, and then, 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕦𝕝𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕥𝕖𝕕. 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕟 on, 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕓 𝕠𝕗 𝕒𝕖𝕠𝕟𝕤, 𝕤𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕 it’s 𝕤𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 such so, 𝕚𝕥 all 𝕓𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕥, 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕚𝕥𝕤 𝕓𝕠𝕟𝕕𝕤 — 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕚𝕟 —𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕡𝕠𝕚𝕘𝕟𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕒𝕟 reverberating 𝕖𝕔𝕙𝕠—𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕦𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕝𝕪 disappeared as —“𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕘𝕠𝕟𝕖 , 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕘𝕠𝕟𝕖!” 𝕁𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕟 —𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕫𝕖𝕟 𝕗𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤, 𝕗𝕣𝕖𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕥 , 𝕒𝕝𝕤𝕠 𝕣𝕒𝕟 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕦𝕟𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕤. 𝕀𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 an 𝕦𝕡𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕕 𝕒 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕞𝕪𝕣𝕚𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕔 𝕤𝕡𝕦𝕟𝕤 and 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕠𝕟𝕖 ! 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕟𝕠𝕨, 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣, 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 pace, 𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖, 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕟. 𝕀𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 ,𝕒𝕤 𝕚𝕗 , 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕘 a 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕝𝕚ves, 𝕥𝕠 𝕘𝕖𝕥 𝕕𝕖𝕝𝕦𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙is 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕 —𝕪𝕖𝕥 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟—𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕕, 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 again, 𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕦𝕞𝕒𝕟. 𝔸𝕘𝕠𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕤𝕠 , 𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕖𝕝𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 —𝕤𝕠𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕪—𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 long 𝕣𝕦𝕟 strides. 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕤 heavy 𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕔𝕜 𝕤𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕪 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟, 𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕞𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 𝕔𝕠𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕖𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕦𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤. Yes…..𝕂𝕖𝕟 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕒𝕟 𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕒𝕣𝕪 𝕤𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟. 𝕁𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕕 been lain 𝕠𝕟 𝕒 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕕 —𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 up 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕀ℂ𝕌 𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕝. 𝕌𝕡 𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕟, 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕒𝕤 like 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕓𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕟 was 𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 things 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕒 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞. ℍ𝕚𝕤 𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕘𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕟 𝕒 𝕧𝕠𝕪𝕒𝕘𝕖, 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕟𝕠 𝕤𝕠𝕛𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕟s 𝕟𝕠 𝕕𝕖𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕤. 𝕂𝕖𝕟 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕡𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕒 states…He 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕦𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟s, 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟. 𝔸𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕓𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕣𝕪, he 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠’ ℝ𝔼𝕄 𝕤𝕝𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕤 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕤 ,𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟, were 𝕥asking shape in 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕔𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 and he was hankering 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕒𝕓𝕪𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕤 somewhere along those 𝕤𝕦𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕒𝕝 grounds. 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 —𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤, 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕤𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙. 𝕊𝕥𝕦𝕔𝕜 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙ose 𝕓𝕒𝕗𝕗𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕤,𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕔’𝕕 𝕓𝕖 𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕕 𝕥𝕠𝕘𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕘𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕣 𝕗𝕒𝕣 𝕗𝕝𝕦𝕟𝕘 as distantly thrown. He was 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕟 held over 𝕒 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟’𝕤 𝕦𝕟𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕕 turn. 𝕊𝕠 𝕠𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕠 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕙, 𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕡𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕤𝕦𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕞𝕪𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕦𝕠𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪, 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕗𝕝𝕠𝕒𝕥 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕒 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕚𝕟. 𝕊𝕠𝕠𝕟, 𝕒 𝕟𝕖𝕨 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕒𝕨𝕟. Over 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟s, 𝕂𝕖𝕟 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕝 𝕤𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕝𝕪 𝕤𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕗𝕗 𝕥𝕠𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕤 𝕒𝕟 𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥. ℍ𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕘𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕚𝕩𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕡 𝕚𝕟 𝕒 𝕡𝕠𝕠𝕝 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤. ‘𝕋𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕟 𝕦𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕥. 𝔸𝕝𝕞𝕠𝕤𝕥 , it was 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 “𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕤,” 𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤ing itself 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕝𝕪 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕗𝕖𝕔𝕥 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕗𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕖 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕗𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕝𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕤𝕖𝕒𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙. 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕦𝕘𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕥 his 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕝 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕕𝕣𝕒𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕥’𝕤 𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕𝕝𝕪 𝕧𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕘𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕪 𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕤. ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕩𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕗𝕖𝕖𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕤. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕘𝕠 𝕦𝕡 𝕚𝕟 𝕗𝕝𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕤. ℂ𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕓𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕦𝕡 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕪𝕖𝕥, 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕥𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖— 𝕥𝕠 𝕗𝕖𝕖𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕦𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕚𝕥. 𝕊𝕠, 𝕠𝕟 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕦𝕟𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕞, 𝕓𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕧𝕠𝕪𝕒𝕘𝕖𝕣 —𝕒𝕝𝕞𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕣𝕠𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕘𝕒𝕝𝕒𝕩𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕟𝕕. 𝔽𝕒𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕚𝕥, 𝕤𝕦𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕝𝕪, 𝕒 𝕧𝕠𝕚𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕕𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕕. ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕒 𝕟𝕖𝕨 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞… 𝕒 𝕟𝕖𝕨𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕟! 𝕂𝕖𝕟’𝕤 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕝 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕖𝕗𝕗𝕦𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕦𝕣𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕔𝕙𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕝𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕟𝕖𝕨𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕟 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕓𝕠𝕪. 𝔻𝕚𝕤𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕤𝕠, 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕙𝕦𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕪 , 𝕘𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙e 𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕒𝕘𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 ,𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟 , 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕗𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞 𝕠𝕗 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟. © ✍️ 𝕄𝕒𝕕𝕙𝕦 𝔾𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕥𝕚, 𝔸𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕝 𝟛𝕣𝕕,𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟜
By Madhu Goteti 2 years ago in Fiction
A CLEAR SOUP FOR THE SOUL 🥣
𓇌𓆸𓆙ꡙ‍ꡙꡌ Rasam ꡙ‍ꡙꡌ 𓆙 𓇌𓆸 A CLEAR SOUP 🥣 FOR THE SOUL As speeches spoken Where sun has awoken Earmarked to be this feasting fest
By Madhu Goteti 2 years ago in Poets
Women: One too Many;Many to One, as One☝️ in Spirit!
Who can be less or more important than YOU—my friend …. Just like “The Dragon Beside Me… .” There you go —a dragon in redress but a priestess in presence —to be duly addressed! This is a salute 🫡 to you, and all those —Unsung heroes, who could be the most commonest, the most easiest but, who adorn compassion — to bestow it on the first, expending it selfless and asking not much, as in returning requests. Yes, I am hailing and talking about those who live for others, among us, with us, steering and building our lives ( in one way or another,) as yielders —forwarding cares. This journaling is to rouse cares to keep that cheerfulness and hope to freely flow —outstripping the rest. I am a supporter of womanhood, the same as a man would love to be a man at core. And to that —I say this—“there’s nothing greater than being integral to each other than I too ‘am. Similarly, whether I come to my own self from I to you ( as a women,) or whether it equals to a gift you bring to me as you ( as a woman) , let there be a resonance that goes beyond —to show a lil’ bit of me also exits in you —as in, warmth and concordance. That precisely reflects my spirit while seeking the august company of women who encompass radiant spirit by beholding —“yes I do , in all that they strive for and in all their respective quests. To discuss about one ☝️ would be like injustice done to the rest . So in that regard , I choose to admire every woman ( even those where my eyes cannot reach) who embodies the living proof of —I am that I am — growing, grown or fully outgrown in whatever I behest. Whether it be , the daily bustle of everyday living , or whatever work that comes as her quest; together or all alone— a woman is a force to be reckoned with, in all her conquests. In short, I am moved by the real woman. Regardless, but ever regardful —I tend towards those woman who don’t hesitate in offsetting simple pleasures of fortitude ,or as what comes alive naturally to them, as they sparkle the same, in you and me, alike as in a zest.That verve and vibe ,like no other, yet just right —to light up a sad face merely by their presence so right. In that sense , boundlessly abounding no woman is no less than you or me, even if, she isn’t commended over labels of — Who’s Who. I truly believe that each woman is equally perfect without needing to hinge over leagues —to be defined as equal and/or perfect —-as though, hauling down those prospecting journeys, is her only way of seeing herself as some invincible best. Meaning why should a woman need a pace to be recognized or even revered in a certain manner especially when she decides to run 🏃‍♀️ and keep her stand —not exquisitely towards her reachers defining remembrance added to her “being” as some bestest best. So , picking out one single woman as an exclusive star (amidst an sparkling array) would be a sheer injustice and much so much —pretty divisive on sisterly terms, for me. So I shall say —I am impressed by every woman —new, and old; young and bold. I hold my reverence with right palm facing the left ; a simple gesture with this Namaste 🙏 to attest. And yes….. Yea, thee or thine; me or mine, all of us —who come in all shapes and many kinds. Yes , we women , even those —Exclusively excluded, as the “chosen ones,” as much as in any number of varieties taking many minds . Here’s how I choose to pay respects to womanhood—In particular —my sincere allegiances to grandma’s and great grand nannies all to be lined up (aligned) in this—one cohort as My friends. Women : Her presence endows a meaning with a permanence that transcends times. She exudes a warmth as permanent as a testament to patience and compassion. Virtually every aspect of her domestic life finds expression in nurturance and managing the household chores with utmost alacrity , strength and strife. That dazzles me to the core in my life. Laying aside the struggles and tribulations experienced day to day, a woman somehow manages to discharge her responsibilities with due diligence as a mighty might. Taken together, a woman manifests a vivid picture of grace, resourcefulness resilience and foresight . Her composure marks a clarity that is inescapable. Chronicling through yesteryears, I keep my grandma’s diary 📔 as a gentle reminder and never fail to overlook the influence she brings into my life. A part of her still remains in me —as life !
By Madhu Goteti 2 years ago in Journal
A Rose 🌹 is a Rose 🥀 is a Rose 💐
I say with quite an unswerving conviction that whatever form of posterity love ❤️ takes through me , it surely draws upon a wide variety . It’s range extends into similes, metaphors and as well into parodies, with underpinnings that make me tantalizingly closer to love more than any. It whispers sweet nothings as in verses carelessly spreading in sprees. Intently so, its Provence alongside its piercings, underlie in the following: Disclosure— Dear reader, this then, above all the deep down revelations, dares in exacting ( rather perfecting it, here and now,) the didactical tonal cleaves of love; vaunting nor wailing to the end of this excessive. To that, bear me in peace! And as is, it equals to—me celebrating you in me, as originally as can be. Indubitably so, for my sort of poetic utterances, perhaps landing more fairly, (now more than ever, ) over your eyes, to envision —WHITE brighter than bright , as in peace 🕊️. Though it may not be precisely clear but here comes a verse field of emotion depicting love as I view it … Love can be crafty, Love can be sweet, So is ,Such is , Said of it !
By Madhu Goteti 2 years ago in Confessions
A Stand in the Impalpable voids! It’s Stone Cold 🥶
Sustainability is a virtue if you may believe. In regards to that, I have stood up a little longer than expected. Herein, I stand tall over fairest mountainous 🏔️ summits, at the foot of which stretch gurgling waters shaped into springs, and then, through the rivers, brooks and rivulets, I stream ( not scream,) furthering furthest into neighborhood creeks. Far away across those bold barriers of the rocky cliffs, 🪨nurtured in nature’s valleys and amidst thousands of huge chunks of icicles --dripping through the roofs, I stand erect guarding the entrance of an impalpable void. Resting next to me is a glacier. To the east is a high soaring cloud casting shadows like a sentinel lighting some holy city. Thereupon throwing broader reflections over the plains , much closer to the barren lands, there is this powdery snowy peak, never melting under the sun’s sizzling heat. Amidst those higher up highs, there's a pinnacle,brighter than bright . It's there, in that reposing void of heavenly skies, a sheer strength belies ; an environ studded in mystique, and into which, the solemnity of peace bespeaks Lain alike and fallen silent over the poppy fields, and yet upon the graves in grooves abounds a tranquil ; flapping it’s wings along a luminous course that's all marked in white. Until..... Such a magnificence (in gaze ) is met by a wanderer seeking the fairest verdant lawns of heavenly bliss ; for in that exists the glory of heaven trapped in a moment's deceit!
By Madhu Goteti 2 years ago in Fiction
An Omnibus of Thoughts
With withered leaves I weave my boat and seemingly float it on the vast I know not how to swim , ‘coz they know not how to cast
By Madhu Goteti 2 years ago in Poets
Misplaced Word
In thinking of the right words to say , I know, I may not sound like what you may want me to say. Whether at home or living abroad,(“comfortably,”with words,)one may wonder about the moronic silences that can creep in between the said-unsaid. And also, as in the trotting troopship, some words can lecture into passages, exchanging new forms, imagery or even a new meaning, shot up as a necessity of being on the “same-page,”day or age. You may say —Oration is not for the faint hearted, and rationing it,calls for an absolute discretion. Thus, engaging in this “tag game,” of verbal exchanges, one can experience the effect of adventure, total amazement or even staggered bewilderments. So here the course can take on any “object,” (of perception,) and plant it over any other imaginative state💭of objective- subjective existence. And herein arrives the “misplaced word,” acting up to the displaced “subjective-objective field,” of metaphoric arrays, fitting closely as it ever may. And in trying to be most —deep and clear, the word as an object, can get obliquely opaque in stating that which it is representative of saying, anyways. What’s there in this “gaming-naming,” fame— you may ask?! The ruling signifier in this gaming-naming process is a contraption, perhaps, like a metamorphosis, wildly given as a transformative imagery symbolically passed on as a customary causation. Hopefully not a casualty. For example,look at the aspect of this simple erudition conveyed in the following poem — With withered leaves I weave my boat and seemingly float it on the vast I know not how to swim , ‘coz they know not how to cast —💫✨ 🧡🦢🦢🦢🧡 ✨💫 An Omnibus of thought 💭 July 18th,2021 ✍️ © Madhu Goteti Symbolically, the preceding can ( in all frankness,) be perceived , perhaps, on different accounts of notions and perceptions. The opacous turbidity in those words could be deciphered either as a gray or a grey matter all the way, which “while being read as an “object,”of imagination, could be seen as a misplacement , displacement, approbation or even appropriation of words, displayed in so many alternative ways. And for the seeding growth seeking consanguinity with the world of illusive logics, translucency can get tied to the space- time or time-spaced passage. That makes a world of difference! There are no two thoughts to it ! “Quae visa placent,” says St. Thomas Aquinas —which literally implies that “objects,” have the power to please. Hence, a perceived object can only be —“that much appealing,” in as much as it impresses the eyes of the beholder. And done with skill, “object- words”can be equally gratifying but only to the extent that they succeed in seeking the approval of the mind’s eye. So, clearly, goodness in words or word objects seem evident in the way they reveal themselves in sight and most of all, the context of the revealing situation. Therefore, misplaced words ( objects) can be both panoramic and equally startling in our grander understanding of things and contexts. For example the word-object named Apple 🍎 in the context of it’s appearance takes on a different connotation in the book of genesis. In fact the Apple’s 🍎 whole tendency gets associated with a prohibitive act against it’s consumption. First, it becomes a source of pleasure and then, it gets traced to a sort of subjective—objectification by the beholder ; a matter of suggestive effect depicted and portrayed in it’s very nature , manner and composition. So on account of discrimination painted against Apple 🍎, I protest ! Why should mankind give a far lesser or greater personification to objects on their own accord. How can such a brutal cynicism be placed upon Apples 🍎. How can humanity ,in its search for elevated ideals ,hold restrictive orders over apples and also simultaneously, manger upon it as the last hope towards survival before calling in a doctor. I mean what kind of antithetical paradox could it be when apples 🍎 are seen as doubly pleasing in this either/or “never to be taken or eaten,” ways. Tell me, why was this unusual magnificence imposed upon Apples 🍎 in order to produce such an internal elevation of mind and touted human virtues . I am astonished 😯 especially when Apple’s solemness was casted away much as much it shows it’s proclivity in seizing diseases, delineated as in the following proverb : “an Apple 🍎 a day keeps the doctor away. “ Far more than anything, some objectified words ( such as Apples 🍎) can create a sense of “paradise lost,” effect. Think 💭 about it?! And , then again, going forward with other fruit comparisons , Apples could be facing a “step-sisterly” steerage while being gauged against , let’s say, a bunch of grapes 🍇. Principally, that synthesis could bring in a vast vague order by pressing discriminatory charges against mankind for making Apples 🍎 appear more impure than it’s compatriot kin —the grape🍇. So words and objects when left unhinged upon earthly can have a disastrous effect. Isn’t that a dangerous provocation in itself. To that point, an understanding would place a greater honor, than any ardent speech made out in the open —like this. None the less, some words can confer specific intents —more so, when delivered (in time,) to meet, all the sensory modalities in the context. And then , for a formulation to make an unguent speech effect, the mind may ,at times, relinquish the beseeching cogito’s scripted concept. In doing so, the intellect impedes”will,” to catch up with all matters, bringing wherewithal skill to it’s perfection’s best. In Expression! Yeah! It’s then and there, the right flow of rhetoric comes in alive ,as in, a fresh breath of air. 😊 Signing off with Free Speech while keeping an eye 👁️ over “misplaced —word-objects,” which may be at the brink of making perspicacious mistakes. —💫✨ 🧡🦢🦢🦢🧡 ✨💫 Jan 31st, 2024 ✍️ © Madhu Goteti
By Madhu Goteti 2 years ago in Fiction
𝕬 𝕿ête-à-𝕿ête 𝖂ith 𝕹ature !
𝕬midst those valleys of windflowers umpteen and, 𝕭etween those boudoirs of bucolic scenes 𝕮almly lain is my “La Grange" serene 𝕯ressed so green ; all decked to be redeemed …it’s there…where… 𝕰xquisite in splendors casts surreptitiousness supreme 𝕱or in that silence, I read of that, which is unforeseen 𝕲oing as far and as it c'd be totally weened… 𝕳eavenly—unto which, such sacredness convenes, and where… 𝕴n faintest whispers cedars sing… 𝕵ust on course, a tender tendril comes swishing in; 𝕶issing humming hopes over those enchanted rings 𝕷ying here and there, are trails of celestial screens 𝕸arvelous as beyond , nobody’s seen… 𝕹ot as far over those seas of bluebonnets terrine, 𝕺, Originating from plummets in tides of deep-blues over sea- greens, and 𝕻ristine is peace lingering over those regaling themes… 𝕼uintessential it is to any reapers’ glean, 𝕽idden in faint fragrances, there’s a charm in each dwelling, 𝕾liding with the winds, raptured over swaying strings, ‘𝕿was on point, beholding magical themes —from this land to that turf of glistening gleams, 𝖀shering graces lain across in early spring 𝖁enturing further on, 𝖂ith primroses and horsemints lain across every scene, 𝖃-traordinary, 𝖄et, as yonder’s, 𝖅enith, O! so pristine!
By Madhu Goteti 2 years ago in Poets
Oath: Until death do us ‘part
Dear Reader, Now you can imagine how they( those words,) could have independently frolicked around with typos; widely disseminating—not mine, not mine to every other skipped thought taken to mean as immaculate conception. So, to that, Our Lady of Scared Heart — please bring in peace, purposefully pieced and meaningfully released to mend invective misgivings. Misnomer Disclaimed: With no disclosure to whosoever’s exposure, I shall club ✨ reason and remain alive in every other active reflection. Promise that I shall earnestly try! This year watch me incessantly indite.And that’s sure to claim any philosopher’s glide through life. 🖋️ 📜 For the most part,I wish to alight, arise in all my might, awakened by insight ,and with it, hopefully 🤞find punctuality marching towards, the right-write or still bettering, write- right. So, for all that to take it’s proper flight, possibly—, my consanguineous thumb 👍 might collaborate with creativity, all along, all through my life’s line. And perhaps, that shall make everything conducive, for those dead words to come alive. Promissory note: I won’t cuss anybody ( neighbors included) who may come in the way of keeping my connection with the words aright. Call me a radical seeker. But most certainly, I shall not take my writings as some “fool’s proof exam ,” to practice and illustrate “kamikaze,” taking lunges ( of course with plunges adroit) out of sight. Rather honestly, I shall take my writings to another side. I would describe my writing endeavors as an apothecary ( medicine and meditation 🧘‍♀️) to be precise; exacting relief from respite; with nothing more nor nothing less to prescribe. Delineated so, it shall aim to make everyone feel more energized. As an accountability buddy 💪, VOICE holds up a special place for me. Please represent me as mine and also present my soul to other beautiful insights. I am literally banking on you for that ! And by “that, “ meaning: that , which should not come off as bandy to the dignified; almost anybody seen as characteristically—very polite. Summing up to that: My spirit in nature has a tendency to smile at every paradoxical catastrophe. I can be dangerously outspoken and ceremoniously talkative. So please 🙏 play me down for the better good to rise in others —religiously. This year, I hope to meet some fantabulous minds, sharing delights through their own workings. Thus far, my readings on VOICE platform have led me to some impressive writings. Fellow compatriots were quite reflective with their own expressive, stylized contents. I was both moved and inspired by them. I hope to keep that going and read more intently though. This year , personally, I hope to embrace the free flowing grace of Benedictine erudition and scale it ( hopefully) to new heights. I would like to write as often as time permits me to scribe. God only knows when ?! But , I promise to be more regular with the habit of shaping thoughts and ideas to some fruitions. So, find me together with you in giving meaning and form to the formless. Again , to that, I don’t hope to be succinct as ever since my imagination has a tendency to run wild in the vacant spaces of my mind🤟. Pray 🙏 🤲 that my visualizations rise up and stay with it —the radiant consciousness. May any banal mystery, less than necessary, keep itself away from taking control over me and mine, which includes thee and thine. 💫 ✨🧡🦢🦢🦢🧡 ✨💫 © ✍️Madhu Goteti,Jan 15th,2024. P.S: Within the compass 🧭 of my abilities, I shall understandably scribe and labor on to reach the marvelous destination of—appealing to some traveler’s eyes. Wondering 💭 will I or won’t I, wouldn’t cross my mind. Most truly, the syllable of the matter and the point of contention 🙋🏻‍♀️ remaining@ : Could I be a dunderhead or will I be made into one :) There, That firmament of doubt shall remain ostracized! I will survive !
By Madhu Goteti 2 years ago in Writers

Madhu Goteti

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𝚅𝚒𝚟𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝚂𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊 !

𝕐𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕝 𝕙𝕒𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 “𝕄𝕒𝕪” 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 : 𝕀𝕥’𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕠 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕠𝕟.

𝔼 ℂ 𝕃 𝕀 ℙ 𝕊 ℂ 𝔼

𝔸 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕪 ℍ𝕦𝕘 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 ℕ𝕖𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕪

A CLEAR SOUP FOR THE SOUL 🥣

Women: One too Many;Many to One, as One☝️ in Spirit!

A Rose 🌹 is a Rose 🥀 is a Rose 💐

A Stand in the Impalpable voids! It’s Stone Cold 🥶

An Omnibus of Thoughts

Misplaced Word

𝕬 𝕿ête-à-𝕿ête 𝖂ith 𝕹ature !

Oath: Until death do us ‘part

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