(This post is in continuation to Sunset at rum point and I chose what I am to be)
The beauty of solitude.
Ah when did any one ever describe.
The destitution of the hermit,
Why do these winds not heed !!
So they say solitude has its beauty.Why then do we run? Why do the dark paths lead us into retirement? Ever does man run away into coves of comfort; afraid to face the paths alone.Beauty lay in those paths. But we of the craven hearts, balk of it. Incomprehensible beauty is frightening. More so when the end presents itself not.We stop and proceed not. But beauty has its ways The longer you are on the road ,the more you see; the path stretches yet more.What is beauty, if it can be compiled in word, written down in songs , etched down in memories. True beauty lay in the paths. The longer you go , the closer you are. But never there !
The days we tell ourselves we are there, we see naught but an illusion. The mirage of beauty attained.A lie. For this road never ends. For the joy of beauty lay not in comprehension. The bliss of beauty, lay not in atonement and fear. Unfathomable beauty never ends and so does its pursuit.Though we lie in mouldy graves and time wash over us, but in those paths where we walk, the shades of beauty ever lies with us within.
Let these mists close. Let these paths unfold. Let this sun rise and set. These winds , may they houl. Let those gods you hold dear, turn deaf. O how the world may laugh. The beauty, but eludes. It beckons; but those that stand true.
I crave not to be wise; for when did wise ever walk in paths of the destitute. I strive not to be loved , for the loved make houses. I strive not to be hated; for they the people are always around. May this path ever lead on. May this wayfarer never stop.
Amen.
I crave not to be wise; for when did wise ever walk in paths of the destitute. I strive not to be loved , for the loved make houses. I strive not to be hated; for they the people are always around. May this path ever lead on. May this wayfarer never stop.
Amen.
