Chapter 10 : In Stillness Divine
He once danced with digits, cloaked in ties,
A banker beneath fluorescent lights.
He knew the rise, he knew the falls—
The dot-com dreams, the housing sprawls.
The ledgers closed with silent scream,
Saw colleagues lose, and some lives lean.
And when the crash, the flames did roar,
He learned the worth of nothing more.
In circles that would never break,
While lives were lost for whos' sake.
But in those moments, cold and dim,
He found himself adrift within.
Then came the war, a distant sound,
A summons whispered through the ground.
He left behind the structured walls,
To answer... To nation’s calls...
A man of numbers, quiet, still...
Unaware of how it would fill
His soul with questions, deep and wide,
As chaos swallowed every stride.
Beneath the guns, the blood, the flame,
He asked himself: "Who calls my name?"
Not bloodlines, not the love of gold,
But something darker, yet untold.
And there, amidst the shattered screams,
He found the cost of hollow dreams.
No profit here, no stock to climb,
Just empty souls left in their prime.
And there — one dawn — the silence split,
His unit caught in an arti blitz.
There came blasts, of cruel fate,
The shrapnel storm sealed his state.
The earth shook hard, the sky went black,
His body thrown—he couldn’t track
The world vanished with the sounds,
The lives that died, the blood that drowned.
When he awoke, the smoke was thick,
And every step felt like a prick.
He saw his comrades lying still,
Their faces now just ash and chill.
Yet through the dust, he stumbled on,
A wounded ghost before the dawn.
By dusk, he found his way again,
His body torn, his heart in pain.
But in the quiet, something burned,
A truth that he could not unlearn.
The wounds of flesh would heal, they say,
But what of minds that slips away?
He limped back home, but none could see,
The war that raged internally.
The world, it turned, it spoke of pride,
Yet Ravind knew how deep the tide.
The numbers, yes, they still would rise,
But not for him — not in his eyes.
So he sought a life away from streets,
Where dreams are sold, and hearts deplete.
He turned his back on brick and glass,
To find a world where moments pass.
The quiet woods, the river’s flow,
A refuge that he now would know.
Pilgrims came to seek his peace,
To find the place where doubts release.
But Ravind spoke no words of creed,
His life itself a silent deed.
He sat beneath the trees, and knew
That stillness spoke more true than view.
For what is peace, if not the grace,
To sit in silence, find your place?
No riches here, no fortune’s claim,
Just quiet joy and gentle flame.
And though the world still spun its way,
He found his path in night and day.
The questions linger, slow and deep,
But in the stillness, Ravind sleeps.
For what is war, and what is gain,
But dust and bone in endless strain?
He left the noise, he left the show—
And found the quiet where winds blow.
The world would turn, it always did,
But Ravind’s mind remained amid.
The peace he sought, the life unspun,
A soul reborn when all was done.
And in the stillness, soft and pure,
He found a way to make it sure.
No doctrine here, no carved decree,
Just space to feel, and maybe see:
That peace is not a prize to chase,
But something grown in quiet space.
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