The breathless traveler ⇒ Kirno Sohochari

Daily mail: A man and his donkey leave a trail of footsteps in the otherwise untouched landscape…

I traveled long for the source. My footprints imprinted in the mountains; rivers and seas carried my journey to the source and scorching desert yet carried my thirst for the source. The green paddy fields and the fruit gardens are my testimony, they know how much I was hungry and for how many years! Acres of violent woodlands and the meadows know why I escape and for what reason. Peoples were startled to hear my footsteps in the deep midnight, and the naughty boys yet called me the Musafir (traveler). My varicolored mantle is complicated like a spider-net. And, the noisy fountain, I know it told you the story of a thirsty bird.

Once I took an exit to meet the source. Someone told me, a source is an eternal Boulevard. My strolling on the road had no destiny at all and I had nowhere to go. I was the partner of a missing endlessness. It expanded me as if the night expanded it shadows to the day. The blue sky is my testimony, dew and dust soaked the ankle, but nothing is endless, and I knew I have to stop for taking rest.

My life will omit in the surface, but I would never sure in my life which is real for me and which is my destiny to the end!

I was resting in a tavern. The owner left his room to see my dizzy face. I leaned to the bed and immediately was tumble-down to the deep sleep. The red ball was slowly drowning into the horizon when I wake to the sleep. And, I was not in a home or an Inn. The owner was not there. I was peeping through the quartet hole, my body elevated me to the silent graveyard. Nocturnal foxes lurked there to catch me. I pulled out me to the hole and my wounded foot was questing the lost tavern for salvation. No, none was there and nothing was never in there. The Inn just vanished itself to the vain, as magician vanished his handkerchief in the twinkling of eyes.

The inspiration grid: Mikko Lagerstedt’s New Series Night Animals
Acres of violent woodlands and the meadows know why I escape and for what reason. Peoples were startled to hear my footsteps in the deep midnight, and the naughty boys yet called me the Musafir (traveler). My varicolored mantle is complicated like a spider-net. And, the noisy fountain, I know it told you the story of a thirsty bird.

The incident made me dizzy. I fell in doubt. It captured me and I was walking along amid the seashore of dream and reality. Doubt made me alert so none can deceive me. Insomnia gripped me and I fell down in a restless nightmare. My vigilant heart soon forgot the differences between the reality and dream. When the differences have gone you embraced the lunatic, yes, lunacy occupied me at the moment of my oblivion.

At last, I again found the Inn. The compassionate owner left his room to see me bewildered by dream and reality. It’s not wise for me to believe him, because, the incident is not real. Perhaps I am hanging in the midst of sleep and dream, maybe walking between the real and surreal, which again elevated me to the quartet hole.

Kent MacDonald illustration of man’s connection with the cosmos …

Yes, it’s true, I the arrow who is imprisoned amid the events. My life will omit in the surface, but I would never sure in my life which is real for me and which is my destiny to the end! Is it an Inn or the nocturne graveyard, — I am not sure except that, I have to travel between the Inn and graveyard like a breathless traveler.
 …

Daily mail: A man and his donkey leave a trail of footsteps in the otherwise untouched landscape…

… I was peeping through the quartet hole, my body elevated me to the silent graveyard…


Originally published at sohochari.wordpress.com on May 14, 2017.