The Forsaken Land

A raft, upon which my heart resounds, drifts in the sapphires of a mocking dream, which has no depths or patent bounds and whose every wave is wild and free, and each drop a lie, so sharp and bitter, with every storm like fire, swift and fierce, and each vessel a soul, devoid of purpose, soaring with the winds of fate. There upon the false depths, once my love and care widened their wings and flew towards the despairing souls, sometimes to save them from the voracious hands and sometimes to weep for their doused flame but in return came my heart empty; devoid of even a speck of love, free of even a shout of thanks, dry of even a pinch of care and slowly and gently, my raft touched the deserted shore of loneliness.

And forever and ever, I have stumbled and fell, looking towards the jilted shore for a vessel to lay anchor at my abandoned shore and give life to a burning flame and invite me to dream his dreams enshrouded in its peaceful light and then persuade me to leave this forsaken land but so long the serenity of time has not thrown any unfortunate to this horrible fate and always have I looked towards the horizon, expecting a blinding light to surface and envelop me in its love and care but eternally the darkness has spread its blanket upon every, living or dying, thing, every loud or silent being.

And waiting and waiting, eventually all the water from the bowl of hope has dispersed, all the roots of an exultant thought have died, all the saplings of a blissful future have withered. And all that is left is a barren wasteland, where I stroll, lost and betrayed, undertaking the endeavor to understand the existence, the origin, of this desolate land. Only to discontinue my journey on the unearthing, that in reality there exists no such thing as loneliness but only in our mind for it has an existence, of our own fancy, by our own fantasy and its cause is none other than the mind which creates it and its creation is because of the barriers we build around our character and individuality and the moat we lay outside their boundary, only to bring into reality, a hopeless sanctuary for our soul and mind. And afterwards, we look towards the horizon with fake hope, expecting a savior to suddenly take existence but there are no heroes, no saviors because no one can comprehend the extent of our illusion, the vastness of its complexity but our own soul, which is the greatest hero and by delving into its sacred depths, true freedom can be gained and before freedom, every barrier around our personality falls because its light encourages every feeling, blissful or miserable, to penetrate the chambers of our heart and spread the light to every corner of our perception.

The Weaver

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.


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