Gori knows not where the path leads to, the wet air, the dusky flora, and the mysterious tunes do not guide either.
Soaking in the newness she walks forward.
And why is it that we always choose to walk ahead, why does not the uncertainty collapse us?
If we stop to rest, if we feel defeated, if we turn back embarrassed and ashamed, we still reach, in some time, at the glorious hour of a beginning.
The tired, wounded, and sullen eyes once again look up, once again fathom the depth, once again find the path.
Taking the rope bridge, climbing the echoing mountains, crossing the glassy rainbows, Gori saw that valley where her loved one awaited her.
The gush of wind cheered her, the dew heavy leaves blessed her, the clouds played the drums for her.
And why does it seem that the whole world dances when we dance and the whole world moans when we moan?
How come we hear the call when there is a concrete silence around us, when facts dispel hope and when dejection raises a toast?
In anger the head is alone, when rejoicing the heart holds it all.
The illusion rudely reveals the reality and Gori faces the brazen cold marshland.
What happened to the beautiful valley, to the lover’s promise, to the perfect dream? Hush! The monster rises, its shadow darkens Gori’s faith.
Thundering sky strikes with lightening that Gori catches with her bare hands. Heaving, she runs towards the monster.
Why is life so epic, so grand, so ambitious? Why do the storytellers talk about ‘once upon a time’?
If the legends appear amused by the mundane, then how many of us are at folly for it is the ordinary that becomes extraordinary?
The tales have never ceased to be melodious, we live perpetually enchanted.
Gori starts walking, leaving behind the triumphant air, gravity shining on her forehead.
She resumes the journey as a narrow track becomes visible to her now, a solo night jasmine tree on the way, showers her with its flowers, Gori takes its fragrance along.
Gori knows not where the path leads to, soaking in the passionate silence she walks forward.
Are the night jasmines very ambitious to wait for and shower a victorious warrior and not anyone else? Yes, they are.
- Shakespeare’s Sonnet 107 and Timelessness
- Jasmine-Rich Raga
- Not Lithic
- Spirited Away and the Art of Forgetfulness
- O Apache!