On and off, between silence and words; we switch gears, high and low our voices grow; surrounded by waves, limitless, as far as eyes go; I look at us, balancing this see-saw of emotions whichever way our lives flow; we laugh, we kiss we argue, but never miss beauty in all this.
“Why do you keep going back to that forest? “ “It just feels right to go home to rest” “There used to be your home years back. Also, do you feel tired? “ “No. I just feel that nights are to go home and rest.” “Uh Uh, There is something wrong in the code. You can not be showing ancient human symptoms. It has been ages they slept in the night. The Internet ruined that. “Am I not human, then?”
The idea of the poem below started with the poem Migratory Birds as Laura on dVerse Tuesday Poetics asked us to use one of the translated poems as an inspiration for a poem. It made me remember another song that has opening lines that birds , rivers and winds are not bound by borders, so what really did we gain by being the way we are.
It was another era, when my stories had wings riding on the clouds across time and space; It was folly of youth – to tie wishes to trees, praying for impossible outcomes; like birds flying across oceans, leaving home behind only to return later; always a stranger to lands and the trees that promised to nest.
This is the final part of the story. Part 1 & Part 2 [linked]
“I did not expect you to look older though”, he said genuinely surprised to find her standing in front of him.
“We age too, and part of this is to blend in when I visit Earth.” She replied as she settled on the mountain ledge.
“How did you even find this place ?”, she continued.
“Followed the signs from the old stories my ancestors collected. I realized quite late that stories are where all the knowledge is hidden. It’s a pity, people have stopped listening to them”. He said softly
“The stories are your bloodline, same as your son’s, all this while. I feared he would fare best as a storyteller. And he figured the same when he seeked you out to learn this dying art.”
“My son ?” he asked puzzled, till he remembered the young man at his home, the one who after a year, had left that very morning to spread the ancient wisdom in the world, as a payment for his training.
As she took the train to her town again, she hoped today, she had the courage to get off the train. She was once a darling of her charming little town, an amateur singer who had run ran away to seek more fame. If only her voice had stayed the same.
He finally found the secret cave. She appeared in the early morning with her guards. As she waved in and out of the waterfall, she relished being home. This was one of the few spots she could enter Earth. This was where she met her son each year.
“They congregated up in the hills, far away from judging eyes”, he answered.
We were newly inducted to this secret society which my great-grandfather had started to track unexplained people and keep detailed records.We gathered intel on these aliens among humans who needed to be handled immediately.
“But that would be extreme,to do now”
“We can meet in this plaza”, he offered.
“The one with the white statue with eyes covered ?”
“Yeah, she sees nothing. We see nothing. The fucking world sees nothing nowadays.”
The cameras see it all, we knew but those could be erased.