I still go to the shore in the dusk and hope you'd return. You never promised to come back, but your eyes did, and your trembling feet showed how much they didn't want to carry you away. I close my eyes and see your boat coming through the fog the same way you left except for this time your hands stroking the oars faster. This time you don't stroll to the bank; you run as though you would suffocate if you didn't embrace me in few next seconds. I know none of this is real, not the boat, not you, not my dream only the mist over the sea and hope in my eyes are real. Maybe I couldn't saw clearly in your eyes. Maybe your feet lied to me. Maybe you'd never come. But, I would still keep coming here to see you because idea of your returning makes my dead heart beat a little.
Sitting there in the middle of the ocean, I am admiring the three moons. One is shining among the stars, second one is gleaming in the water and the best one is in my arms. She is rooting for the one in the sky and I for the one beneath the suface. She says hers one is magnificent as it is part of the cosmos. I say mine is happier one as it is in the heart of its love, the ocean. She says hers has got the sparkling stars and I say mine has the mesmerizing mermaids. She says hers one is real and mine is Just a reflection. I say, "Reality is worth nothing if one can't be in the arms his beloved"
In the mild illumination of the dawn, see, there comes a horseman, crossing across the rising sun.
His horse, faster than the morning breeze, galloping in the open field among the pine trees. Why didn't he come down the gravel road? Can't he even take the path the rest followed?
Does it make him an iconoclast? Or he just loves instigating the anarchy? But I can say from the shadow he casts, he is just another fugitive of the reality, who is running away from his past.
What is he seeking in this remote land? His noble hat tells he's no nomad. I am so sure he has lost his beloved What else can make one's eyes this sad?
I asked him if he found what he was looking for "This is the place where we'd meet." he cried. "I find her here every morning but lose her with the sunset no matter how hard I fight. I have to revive all the memories until than because that's the only way I could survive a lonely night."
Standing on the ledge of the cliff, I wonder which is mighter? The will of a man or the mountains. Or maybe it's not about the showcase of power, it's about the beauty. But, my damned mind is still thinking of the strength. Should one care about the strength when is surrounded by the beauty? Perhaps, I should have disowned my egocentric ideas when the world disowned me so I could think about the beuty. Beauty of the mist glowing in the early morning sunshine. Beauty of light downpour of the spring. Beauty of clouds wandering around the tops of the hills. And the beauty of water running down the gorge. Or the beauty of your heart and memories of yours I have . the beauty of grief I am carrying around after your departure. I am shrouded by all the beauty of the nature but one. I wish I had that one too. I wish I had the beauty of your warm presence. #pod#wilderness#writersnetwork#julietscorner @sumana_chakraborty@_existence@odysseus@sagacious_miss@writersnetwork@monikakapur@an_empathetic_soul_ @thoughtsprocess@sakshi_02@day_dreamz