Wandering Monk: The Journey of Love – III

And a long walk it was.

Tiring, as he had experienced all this while. As he looked for a place of rest – he saw none. The entire world was a place for him to rest – he could choose any, as he wanted. But he couldn’t find a place to rest where he would feel comfortable.

There were no densely-happy trees, no silent-mountains even, that would offer him some shade from the scorching sun. A barren land lay all around him. Not even a bird in the sky to assure him of a source of sustenance nearby. If he was in a desert, he would have reconciled, but this wasn’t a desert even.

He sat down where he was – it was as good a place as any other.

He looked ahead at the path before him. Where he would walk, would be his path. None had walked here before. In his mind a mild anger created a nest. He knew that the tinsel had to be removed before the house became home. He didn’t sense the trees, birds, and the grass anymore. He felt that he didn’t sense them because they had ceased to sense him.

Yet another twig in the nest.

Someday, if he ever met them again, he would hear from the trees, birds, and the grass that had left him – his doing for the distance that had occurred – for the bridges that he didn’t build. He smiled. When he walked from his home – he was aware, yet not conscious of what that meant.


Another heat wave tickled his thinning frame, making him look far in the distance where shade would be. It was the feeling that a man on the mast must have – when he sighted land – of almost reaching the destination. Perhaps there was a different love waiting in these barren lands – or beyond them. An expression of love is only as meaningful as the experience. Else they were empty words – like the land he was in. Bereft of any joy – a blank canvas on which no colours would stay.

Such weak, this love
Asking of a visual presence
Assurances every moment
Of your existence

Of your commitment
Of the need of action
That dignifies, and even
Defines the emotion.

He covered his eyes with his right hand, and slept, sleep eluding him, yet peaceful in countenance.


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