As time swept on, the last traces of spring melted away,
The rivers wended towards their inimitable journey to the clouds.
The desert winds stravaged through the mountains,
The gentleness of time evaporated,
And left behind the dry warmth of the Sun.
Summer was aborning, and nature changed its course,
From a soft, jocose being to its hungry, sturdy self.
The nuances of spring were over,
The shades of grey faded away,
Revealing the vagaries of time.
The balance of life shifted on its fulcrum,
And summer announced its arrival on the seasonal scales.
Distance in summer has always been a hard one to fathom,
For summer itself is an oriflamme of time,
For family and time to spend at home,
For work and crops and masons and smiths,
And a break from school for the kids.
So is the story of the dame and the shepherd,
Who lived afar, only to have met once,
In their dreams who shared a touch of feeling,
A tale of distance, separation,
Yet one of belonging and togetherness.
There yet was a feather, a grain of sand,
A whisp of smoke, that watched them,
Life itself was an observer, for it knew,
That which is the past, and that which is to come.
Summer evolved its imago, as the wealds sheltered,
The feeling of love dissipated with the moisture in the land,
And left behind a dry rustle of fallen leaves in its wake.
Summer filled life with heat, and heat filled life with summer,
The sun shone at the brightest,
Gibbous shadows of oxen bathed in sweat ploughd the fields,
Dust and debris strewn along the stony lanes,
And new paths hewn amid the empty brooks.
The pastures still grazed, and the cattle fed,
The shepherd spent his days in the shadow of a lonely oak,
And that is when his life changed forever.
The sun was highest in the sky,
As he woke up to find a silky bowl at his feet.
It brimmed with pure water with crystal glow,
And floating in it was a white rose.
He was thirsty, and dipped his fingers for water to drink.
At his touch the water shimmered.
And as he removed his hand, the image cleared,
Unto the beautiful face of his love.
He tried to touch her, feel her,
But was afraid he would lose her in that.
And then her heart shattered, flames erupted,
Scars of distance etched blood,
It seeped through a trail of fine flow,
And turned the rose red.
Thus I was born,
Amid love and separation,
In the midst of summer in the shade of an oak,
Forever to live as me.
Summer carried on, a trail of drops of fine dust,
The shepherd trudged back to his home,
Lost in thought.
Sparse clouds gathered,
Angels dispersed,
That which was home was now no more.
He packed his fiddle, his scant clothes,
And a few paraphernalia from his past,
And set himself on a journey of love.
A few drops of wispy rain had started to descend,
As he took his first steps towards his unknown destination.
- Hirak.
