Citizen of a Lost World




A house of memories, an edifice of dreams, and a cottage in the serene wood where fat partridges flutter their wings to attract the butterflies that flit from flower to flower but the dazzling sun blinds the emotions of the bumble bee that has gone crazy after drinking the sweet nectar.



The dove with clipped wings sings a sad song but the nightingale startles one and all with a dreamy, hypnotic call that freezes the lonely traveller in his tracks. Stars hang from the sky like expensive chandeliers and night waltzes like a ballet dancer giving the performance of a lifetime. The rhapsody of the wind propels the mind to an ecstatic level.



Where there are ruins, there are moments also; and where there are moments, there are ruins also. The detached soul is still a soul and the atmosphere becomes lively when the soul merges with the cosmos. I dwell in a world where only fantasies live; sometimes when I emerge from it, I look like the citizen of a lost world.



Sweetness of situation sometimes bothers the mind but the flamingos fishing in the pond of opportunity come up with only water in their beaks. The trend of gourmet water is fast catching up and the glaciers slowly drip away in the land of memories. When witches trouble you then the knowledge of witchcraft comes into use.



The moon runs along the sky like a child’s scooter’s third wheel.



-          NZ

16.10.2019

BN: 159

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