When many ask where it all started, ask they will
because many do, because the question is inevitable, and certainly so
i would also ask if i didn’t know, this thought i certain to cross my mind
and inevitably so, so so many countless times.
well, as the spring cleared here, sending the world back to life
bringing back leaves to cover the naked trees
and birds to sing in a joyous choir every other day
and smiles that long forgotten were in a now dawn of a happy society
at this time, and in a far land, far beyond your eyes far beyond the sea
in the hilly red-soils village facing the mountain of god
not so far from your thoughts though, yes there
this is where my story started.
I tell you this in a grey misty day, and regrettably so
for i will tell you of another land far far away
and way far beautiful than any other i’ve seen
so girl, stop looking at the misty grey and please walk with me in thought
its on a Friday evening, after classes, after work, after duties,
no commitments, no plans, no nothing, just free will and a free seat in free time
sited somewhere in a bench,facing west, looking at the enormous mountains
and with the shadowy mountains gazing back at you in a dazzling fading stare
the view is superb but unique,it could be both, looks sweet, look it sadly
for the sun sinks away, majestically descending away with its beauty and heat
soon dusk will translate into a night fall, so dead, with dread and darkness
the night, ooh!! shhhhhh!don’t wake the sleeping
for the silent night, seemingly provides a cover for secrecy, for privacy,
for magical moments, for a silent naughtiness without notoriety
For a shot to be all you deemed back and nobody shall know, nobody shall talk of it
and so so a dead silence, to make a tasty sweet moment,
tastier than grapes,tastier than honey, tastier than poetic words,
an indescribable moment, so complex and even so than Shakespeare could express
and the moment,the taste and the secrets only to be a reflection some day years to come
all of it to be only sweeter in thoughts, in memories and in other locations so many years to come.
Girl i think the new day tomorrow should stay longer before dawning,
without threatening to reveal those secrets made under the cover of darkness,
those so coveted secrets that give rise to memories,
those covered secrets under the blanket of trust
those never to be covered in news
for who other than the people involved will ever tell,
of the push ups and pull ups that befell the night?
of the wrestling and the bouncing?
of the twisting and the thwarting
of the testing and the tasting
of the sweatness and the sweetness?
If they ask again my friend, tell them these is a familiar story back home
And so now my friend, come back to the misty day.
such stories, only stay there, busking under the sun
all is not lost though, a visit someday
when the time is right, is always welcome