Question the sky and it will give you all the answers. On the cusp of a reluctant dream and racy technology, strange it may seem, the cosmos comes to a standstill. The moon falters, stumbles like a drunkard onto the stained glass windows of a church in a remote country side. The sun stands still, woven in sacred tapestries, reflecting centuries of your light. Just as dusk begins to darken, you are present everywhere. On my tongue, your name melts slowly, like a piece of the bluest sky, like a poem hidden in shadows, canopied by light. The sound of a violin, the gentle murmur of a song, fragrance of flowers, hidden for an eternity, sleeping in the arms of a secret melody, stealthily spring back to life.
For a thousand years, birds have not spoken, the sea has not raged and the sky has not cried. For a thousand years, the tide has not left a single word in the sandy pages of its life. For a thousand years clouds have drifted with words and hung on the fathomless depths of my mind. For a thousand years, I’ve sought you, in the empty pages of my mind.
Then you arrive. Through the thinning mist. Like the biblical Bethlehemite. With luminescent light. To break the frozen ice.
I open the door. I look outside. A beautiful branch on a tree stump heralds a new lease of life.
© Jaspreet Mann