“Look out for the summer within the weather with the autumn-y eyes the cloudy mind and those winter laden eyes which have seen the Monsoon rains shower or perhaps that heart made from the Hurricane which swipes away the land and leave behind a spring–of rosy lush with green brazen hills which look like the rustic evening of a day which is draped with ornaments from the night. Yes you! You with summer foreclosed and winter foretold and with the winds of change. the unconquerable ones. Shadows and fog like dances of the wolves, the Summer would cease and alive shall you be. Yes, you!”
The place between nature and humanity is serenity. It is that bridge where if we stand in bliss which is known as silence–we will feel the heartbeat of Earth. It is that crossroads which does not ask to be traveled..but just begs for stillness. And we often ignore the pleads. That is why we do not know that such a place even exists, where blue is a blur and green is a cloud. This place is where we find ourselves. Outside we find earthbound things. Then they fly past us. But we never hear silence talk
And thus began the day, bright and gay
She stood at the door
Made of rotten wood
With a veil over her head
She saw a naked world–
A chasm filled with dread
Even though she knew, beyond her silly gait
A world of flight
Oh! Ever so might…
But she had to roam
With a rusty cloth dabbed
Covering her filtered head
To fill the pitcher full
Of water to quench their thirst
And with a dirty veil–to not meet their preying faces
And prying pondering shades
Hide away! She said to herself
They do mind your flight
The gazing stars will fall
And the crashing sight
The head in a dirty veil
As the whole village gaped
They all stared
What do you know about living–
The man who died a thousand suns ago
The dancing and the grinning
The lights of the dreamy, dreary shows
The illusions in the darkness,
The light within the foes
What do you know of living–
The dead man from ages ago
Smiling and jeering
Coughing and sneering
The drinks and the drugs
Drinking the wine of shadows
Eating the fruit of deceit
The lustful faces of ghosts
The greedy turfs of the libels
The man who knew of living–
Yes, he died long ago
Sheets, the empty sheets
Like messages in a bottle sinking in a sea,
Of being lost
The painting of the Dame and the color red
Red like her blood…when they found her dead,
Lost in the sea
Like the whirling trees and their rustling leaves
Green like the hope of finding the seeds,
Of a Future which was bleak
Just like today, when I stood on the hilltop,
Looking at the sea
No one knows, but there is a place somewhere around in the hidden realms of this world–kept well hidden from the local eye. The eye which meets every other eye, which meets every other eye–the common eye. This place is carved out of valleys and shade. This place is atop the most high mountains. The most secret shores. It is a secret well kept hidden. Upon the lake where water meets the skyline and the Sun is born. And when it grows old, it disappears like sound of silence. This place is called ‘World;s End’ and it is indeed the most beautiful place.
Gold is not gold here, it turns into wisp–golden wisp, so that at every Sun dance there is a hue of gold spread in such a way which entwines with the dark only to make it more beautiful. Here light is not just light–but a magnetic and hypnotic force which makes one–happy. An emotion which was never found, always sought and often forgotten. You see, this place is the horizon of everything that was and will be.
Here love is not born. Hate is not bred. Here neither things happen and none are believed in. Love-hate; the lethal combination which are both feared and both so very common. At World’s End, there is nothing like love to e thought to felt and hate to be known to felt. That is perhaps why this is the most beautiful place on earth.
Where the silver of the Moon breathes unto the Stars all the secrets which were never known to any one or anything. Here whispers just disperse and go about and here the Nightingales don’t sing but are sung to by the most mellow voice. Tears melt into the skin here and thus begins daytime.
Here the hollow voices and the vacant stares and the empty smiles don’t matter because here they all come to rejoice in the pleasant dark which seems so utterly magnificent–like soft velvet which amalgamates with silk.
This is my World’s End. I come here often, to sing to the lake and watch it turn into an ocean–with waves. Lots and lots of waves. This is my secret. Well hidden from the eye which sees the other eye which sees the other eye- the common eye.
Here i come by, in my solitude–which turns into mirth which turns into Tears shed by God. Finally all turns into vapor and disappears along with the smoke which emanates music–spreading.
Here, dreams dissolve but do not disappear. They take root, like the huge tree which gives life and shade. Rocks made of past—steady but pointy yet important. One can always stand on one and jump into the gushing waters and feel each breath as it folds and unfolds. The body struggling to catch itself. The mind–in control.
I come here often, at World’s End. Every time i come by, i see a world turning and twisting. Screaming and struggling. Breathing and dying. Dancing and flying. All of it, you name it, i can see it, feel it, hear it and….let it go. Every time i come to World’s End–The Most Beautiful Place on Earth– the world begins. Once more. Evermore. Always.
Today when the Hermit goes to work
Faces the music of oblivion
Sets the existence on fire
Carries the dead leaves within, around
Falls into a chasm…of clay
And out comes dust
And a new world thus made
Of dead leaves, clay and fire
The Hermit goes to slumber
When wakes, sees a world of nothingness
Therein dwell his two souls, the one asleep and the one in a dream
Along with dead leaves.