The days pass oblivious of the spirit that suffers. Well, the spirit doesn't care about their lack of affection and cares not even to make an attempt to change that equation either.
It's an impasse - the nights are silent on the matter. They don't want to interfere and stop the rain that the eyes have to bear.
The drudgery is deader than the pan in which fry the potatoes. The sizzle at least hints at a lease of life therein amidst the oil that crackles in the heat. Here, in the midst of all the work, din, and the travel, the spirit is dead. And feels nothing about the wear and tear.
I was walking across the shores - the shores I cross so often - when this same spirit hobbled along to my side. Its hair was a mass of cobweb and its face stricken with the conscience of sin. The robe it wore to cover the absurdity of its existence was in shreds. And yet, not once did it get carried away by the breeze that came to meet it from the sea.
We walked in silence. That was what we both wanted: Silence. We left prints in the sand that were washed into the tide. We saw the line - far off and yet somehow close - that wobbled into a haze as it engulfed the sea and sky. We let the trees make some music with notes unknown.
But nowhere near - and in none of these - did we find what we had set out for...
It's an impasse - the nights are silent on the matter. They don't want to interfere and stop the rain that the eyes have to bear.
The drudgery is deader than the pan in which fry the potatoes. The sizzle at least hints at a lease of life therein amidst the oil that crackles in the heat. Here, in the midst of all the work, din, and the travel, the spirit is dead. And feels nothing about the wear and tear.
I was walking across the shores - the shores I cross so often - when this same spirit hobbled along to my side. Its hair was a mass of cobweb and its face stricken with the conscience of sin. The robe it wore to cover the absurdity of its existence was in shreds. And yet, not once did it get carried away by the breeze that came to meet it from the sea.
We walked in silence. That was what we both wanted: Silence. We left prints in the sand that were washed into the tide. We saw the line - far off and yet somehow close - that wobbled into a haze as it engulfed the sea and sky. We let the trees make some music with notes unknown.
But nowhere near - and in none of these - did we find what we had set out for...
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