It's Like That Sometimes

This poem was inspired by Hari, a young Rishikesh waiter, who, when overheard responding to a curious traveler regarding the change in his usual attire replied, "It's like that sometimes."

My sister and I have adopted this mantra and applied it to the assortment of circumstances we’ve encountered, as well as to personal divergences from what previously, we perceived to be absolutes only to discover — it is like that sometimes.

It represents our transitory nature and the magical unpredictability of the world around us, while underpinning our innate ability to choose differently at any time. 

 

It's Like That Sometimes

 

In love with this life
when it's not complete strife

Drawn toward the light
we forego the night

The people, so kind
when you're not their best find

The offerings, the smiles
…transcend all the miles

Oh, so bloody hot
except when it's not

Are you feeling your best?
No. Yes.  I mean, No.  Oh, Yes.

He asks where you're from
“Which country, my friend?”

"My shawls, madam, my shop…?”
Have you time you can lend?

Is the power on?
It was.

But not now, why?
Because.

So beautiful — Divine
except for the grime.

You see my dear pilgrim,
It's like that sometimes

The children so sweet!
come right to the street

Although there are some
seek only a treat

Oh no, where are we?
I haven’t a clue

Try left, or no; Right?
Look out for the poo!

"I heal" (or was that steal?)
the tout, he may say

No worries, no problems
I'm sometimes that way

You call out to greet me
I look the other way

What, you don't want to talk?
Nope, sometimes I'm that way

The colors so vivid
the history so rich

But why is it often
there's somehow a hitch?

A country so poor
so many no door

Who says? It’s not true
there's none that has more

Diversity galore
dichotomies, even more

World upon world
so much to explore

I'm Buddhist, I'm Hindu,
no, maybe I'm Sikh

The options so plenty
but who are the meek?

The sweet Ganga flows
the temple bells chime

You see my dear human,
it's like that sometimes

Our dear Mother India,
we run for the door

But when no one is watching
we come back for more

~ by Amy King