Wichtiger Beitrag
When The Day Dawned
The day was yet to dawn.
From the warmth of my cosy bed,
as I stepped out of the house,
the entire town slept;
a gigantic cocoon,
in its depth,
the silkiness of existence,
folded in the mystique of darkness,
in the aura of a wasteland from ancient times,
as if the roads, fields, houses and trees cast by a magic spell;
time, to its core drunk with antiquity,
environs perpetuating colour.
In the timelessness of eternity,
in the mute fog,
people in their bed-chambers crouched in sleep,
the radiant moonlight in the sky paled.
A deathly silence,
flames in clay-lamps dwindling to their end.
A probable rain ahead.
Right above the street, chunks of clouds coursed the sky.
Shivering in the wintry wind adjusting the folds of the dark shawl around my body,
wiping away from the canopy of tearful eyes,
images of children serenely asleep,
mumbling to myself,
I reached the riverside,
got into the boat.
The day was yet to dawn.
Yearning for the other shore,
my boat moved with the rushing waves.
The morning star winked.
The boat, water,
the sail, the oars, the darkness and my drowsy self,
all elements converged into one:
a long lost memory flowered in the heart.
Then the day dawned.
The sun took over at noon,
shadows crawled in the descending light,
evening fell,
then darkness cloaked all.
A journey of several hundred nights at last touched the shore.
When the next day dawned,
my house was draped in mourning.
The day was yet to dawn.
From the warmth of my cosy bed,
as I stepped out of the house,
the entire town slept;
a gigantic cocoon,
in its depth,
the silkiness of existence,
folded in the mystique of darkness,
in the aura of a wasteland from ancient times,
as if the roads, fields, houses and trees cast by a magic spell;
time, to its core drunk with antiquity,
environs perpetuating colour.
In the timelessness of eternity,
in the mute fog,
people in their bed-chambers crouched in sleep,
the radiant moonlight in the sky paled.
A deathly silence,
flames in clay-lamps dwindling to their end.
A probable rain ahead.
Right above the street, chunks of clouds coursed the sky.
Shivering in the wintry wind adjusting the folds of the dark shawl around my body,
wiping away from the canopy of tearful eyes,
images of children serenely asleep,
mumbling to myself,
I reached the riverside,
got into the boat.
The day was yet to dawn.
Yearning for the other shore,
my boat moved with the rushing waves.
The morning star winked.
The boat, water,
the sail, the oars, the darkness and my drowsy self,
all elements converged into one:
a long lost memory flowered in the heart.
Then the day dawned.
The sun took over at noon,
shadows crawled in the descending light,
evening fell,
then darkness cloaked all.
A journey of several hundred nights at last touched the shore.
When the next day dawned,
my house was draped in mourning.
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