I have no silver-saddled horse to ride, no inheritance to live on, neither riches no real-estate -- a pot of honey is all I own. A pot of honey red as fire!

My honey is my everything. I guard my riches and my real-estate -- my honey pot, I mean -- from pests of every species, Brother, just wait... As long as I've got honey in my pot, bees will come to it from Timbuktu...

Buoyantville would have been in operation/online for an year in exactly three days. It reminds me of how quickly time passes and with it other things as well. I don't know what that signifies but I have become somewhat attached to this amorphous collection of bits and bytes residing on a machine somewhere in Europe.

And since I have put up a counter to keep track of people who wander in and leave their tracks over these pages, in the last six or so months we have seen about 17,000 visits and give and take the regulars like me, say atleast 5000 new people have passed through this space, some faster than the others, looking for that nugget of information, that poem, that lyric of that song, that song itself. Some(three maybe four) have written to say how much they have enjoyed what they have found, while the others will remain anonymous, yet still connected by their empheral visit here.

They say that the current public memory has a quality of forgetting things that should be remembered and celebrating things that don't have much intrinsic goodness or quality. I hope these pages, in whatever form and shape, have added more to the good part than the bad. And how much good or how much bad only Time will decide.

Peace. Sashi

PS: And a poem to celebrate this:Hikmet's Things I Didn't Know I Loved

Out of a hundred people

those who always know better --fifty-two

doubting every step --nearly all the rest,

glad to lend a hand if it doesn't take too long --as high as forty-nine,

always good because they can't be otherwise --four, well maybe five,

able to admire without envy --eighteen,

suffering illusions induced by fleeting youth --sixty, give or take a few,

not to be taken lightly --forty and four,

living in constant fear of someone or something --seventy-seven,

capable of happiness --twenty-something tops,

harmless singly, savage in crowds --half at least,

cruel when forced by circumstances --better not to know even ballpark figures,

wise after the fact --just a couple more than wise before it,

taking only things from life --thirty (I wish I were wrong),

hunched in pain, no flashlight in the dark --eighty-three sooner or later,

righteous --thirty-five, which is a lot,

righteous and understanding --three,

worthy of compassion --ninety-nine,

mortal -- a hundred out of a hundred. thus far this figure still remains unchanged.