No movement.No space that allows echoes of mortal voices, but a gentle caress in the air , a tenderness in the soft plush grass that makes you want to tread ever so lightly, so gently.No matter how many mortals you assemble or how wide you open your arms you cannot conquer even the spirit of that place. Tired & defeated your arms will fall, unable to grasp the glory , the beauty of that place.
And the mist & the sun play a dancing game, backing and advancing: retreating to unveil an undulating carpet of the lushest greenest grass.Where even a pool of still water is as clear as a pristine mirror; a testament to the angels in heaven, of God's beauty left on earth , unscathed by men & their tools, unmarked by so called noble minds, simple and awe inspiring all at the same time.
In a valley of cruel monarchs that kill ordinary pedestrians daring to tread, trespass on land belonging to someone else, surrounded by cloaks of snow, that drape & taper over the bare boned mountains, as if to tease waters parted lips.
Where solitary trees like soldiers left standing to attention, on guard to protect the scattering of the delicate jewels in the wildest fusion of red & fuchsia & soothing yellows, to mellow mauves, and tempered little leaves that grow beneath.
In a world created by the Creator & left untouched, out of the grasp of greedy money-wound minds.In life's travels here too I have dared to tread, beauty and awe inspiring sights I too have seen, yet I do not feel my fingertips rush to write , how can they when in some desolate land lie heaps of bodies of youth , to be carried by their parents?
And the translucent water reminds me of a candle's tears, that fall silently and soundlessly like pearls on a petal, but that melt & meet to be a sea, an ocean drowning within it's self, waiting, waving desperately as in the distance luxury liners indifferently make their way: on with the merriness & the cheers. Their gaiety piercing, bruising hearts old with grief & grieving, on with the merriness and the way of the world, onto a land for some immemorable, insignificant time where problems are hushed & on with the clapping & celebrating, deafening the cries which cannot ever be hushed, as long as there is a will to struggle & overcome the pain ,and on with the weddings & the elaborate parties , where a host of world respected men stand still and their wives are told to mingle, glossed over, shinning like satin, hearts in pain , mangled in dashed dreams, but rose colored cheeks and well done hair & a silent rustling of their heirs, heirs to inherit all this unsung, unknown, undeclarable pain, & onto the floor where the rhythm is divine, & the people are like monkeys lost in their own warped jungle,unable to find their way in the hazardous dark with all their backstabbing rules & on with the whistling & the hooting & on with the juiciest gossips & the scandalizing talks & on with the passing of mirrors by society's mother to all her well bred heirs& on with the competition of all the unsuitable suitors & needless worries & on dancing with the tapping & on with the party balloons & fairy lights & on with the helium headed parents& scathing children, & on with the din of rejoicing & the clatter of celebrating & the resounding walls of taught laughter: jingling echoing, clashing & on with the merriness & on with the cheers & on with the contrived party spirit & on with the pasted smiles of Plasticine, & on with the flurry and hurry of life & on with the merriness & cheer ,darling, my dear, that nation mourning in pain why can I still hear?