Somewhere in the distance, where time and infinite time…and space and void-like space meet, there is a prize. Maybe, there’s a golden bird, or a beautiful musical note that trembles like mercury on the tip of one’s finger. There is a bush that maybe blooms with children’s laughter or a lake that’s dense with the colour of hibiscus. Maybe there, poetry lives in a tree-house architected by imagination. Somewhere in the distance, in a place I don’t know, there is a prize that today’s moments covet. That’s why they are rushing there like the wind. Leaving me behind. To be blown and scattered standing. Someday, they will return. Because these fragmented pieces will be the spot…the one where time and infinite time…and space and void-like space meet.
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thank you!
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
So wonderful is the notion that one just gets drowned in the beauty of the moment to come or even not to come but really dear to the heart.
The point where things become unimportant and unrealistic and only the feel remains, after all, isn’t it all about ‘just feeling’.