Chapter 4 – The Long Drought

The fields were thriving. I was now more motivated than ever. All around the house I had built, there was hope in abundance. I would walk in the field, happily inspecting the crops, and later I would sit on the porch of my house, wondering about the future, when they would be ready for harvest, and bring great joy and pleasure. I must have spent years, taking care of the fields and nurturing them and watching the crops grow taller. Cultivating the land and honing my craft; that is what I did all these years, and this created a plethora of expectations. The kind which come with hard work, patience and persistence. I remember the beautiful clouds that watered the fields and the great sun under which everything grew.

As the long years passed, I learnt that everything is not what it always seems and change is often not for the good. Things and people who once were good, or rather seemed so, turn in an instant. Eventually, the kind of crop you grow does not matter. The crop of honesty, the trees of empathy and the endless field of flowers of good intentions, is not what is valued. The very foundations of my house which were made of kindness, generosity, love, simplicity, loyalty, honour and integrity were not enough to bear the burdens of this world. I learnt that the character one develops, is disregarded. The world wants the crops that yield fortune only.  Those who sow the mischievous seed of greed are heroes when the harvesting season arrives.

Just like that, the clouds and the sun who were once my friends, and good for the fields, turned against me. There was none in the sky to water the crops and none in the cosmos to shine on them. The clouds disbanded, and the sun grew warmer. I was deceived. I was exposed to the harsh reality of the world. I experienced things and saw things that I never otherwise knew of. My reluctance and refusal to adapt to the treacherous ways of the world was seen as a weakness. My house and my fields that held goodness was seen as a threat. There was a long drought; during which I learnt that with goodness, you cannot be a hero. You are not valued for principal. You are valued for the yield. I saw my fields slowly fade to brown, but I continued to work. I did not let the crops die, and I did not change the foundation of my house. I ploughed through the drought and clung to by hopes. Goodness is not a weakness. Is it?

Chapter 3 – The Tree That Fell From The Sky

I have seen it.
When the day was younger.
And the night a distant tale.
When it was plenty
And scarce was its dearth
I have seen it
When words were kinder
And hearts simple and pure
When the winds were calm
And the shores untamed

I have seen it
When the land was vast
And grass tall and green
When the rivers sang
And the mountains danced 

I was there . . .
When the night fell quickly
And draped all in silence
When the veil was sewn
And hung from the sky

Still I observe
Most of them crossing
And on quest to find it
Souls scarring and tarnishing
And withering to dust

I will be here
When the sky falls down
And their quest fails
For what they seek
They had all along


The rolling skies stretch far,
Torn by clouds that smear the blue canvas

Huge peaks jagged,
are tipped with fiery snow

Among the encircling mountains,
one peak harbours blossoms

Sprouting pink over grey,
from cliffs otherwise bare

In the midst of pink sits,
a lone soul with a zither

She is covered in white,
a robe that flows like silver

Like the torn clouds

Like the snow on the peaks

Like a mountain river

To whom does one play,
such a solemn tune?