A Lost Horizon

There was this sky

Ordinary, as skies go

Blue, white, pink and orange

Grey and yellow too,

But mostly, mostly blue

Distant, untouchable blue.

…

Far in the distance,

The chameleon (but blue) sky

Met the earth

In a smoky haze of grey and purple.

In that distant inky world

Resplendent with imagination,

Stories were born,

Tales flew away and on

Discovering fresh distances.

…

The story isn’t of the sky

But of the  smoky blue horizon

And more than that

This is her story;

She to whom

The unattainable horizon

Was the whole world,

IS the whole world.

…

She cared nothing for the sky

That vague, dreamy one,

She loved the horizon

With a hesitant, trembling gratitude

She would stand staring at it

For many lost hours

Her eyes lit by an unseen smile

Limbs dancing to an unheard beat

Shoulders twitching

As if she was about to fly into its grey arms.

…

Yes, she loved the horizon

The crazy fool.

…

It was the possibilities, perhaps

That the misty horizon presented

Is it not the blurred and undefined

That lends itself most willingly

To a world of impossibilities?

It is the unspelled that has room

For a heart- full of words to hide

So, perhaps, why she loved it,

The soft, fuzzy horizon.

…

Then came the day,

As everyone but her, knew it would.

The horizon must go,

They declared

She cried nor protested

Just looked and looked

With her dumb eyes

Eyes sans the worldliness

To pull a curtain over their windows

Exposing her soul, undressed

Within their unfathomable depths.

…

She looked at them with those eyes

Silent and wordless

And they saw her soul

Laid bare, helpless

An animal caught

In the blazing headlights

Of a speeding automobile.

…

They ran her over,

Cursing her angrily

For her dumbness, her stupidity

Why did she let them do it to her?

The fault was hers!

They stridently claimed!

…

She wouldn’t have anywhere to go,

They were sure.

Who will catch her rampant imagination?

Where will she dream of flying?

Who will hold her impossibilities

Hidden in their strong grey arms?

How will she live

without her passionate love?

…

She will beg them, they thought

She will tell them of her dreams

Show them intricate wings she was weaving,

She might even tell them her foolish stories

Stories of unattainable passions

And untamed, feral dreams

But she didn’t.

…

After they had unhooked

Her beloved smoky horizon

She looked dumbly on.

Her silence unbroken

By words nor cries

If only someone had peered

Into her depths,

They would spied a conflagration

Her soul twisting,

Like a tongue of flame.

…

In the bustle of their departure

They were raucous and boisterous

They didn’t hear her, therefore,

When she spoke at last.

Her words were swept away

Into the darkness of futility

“Please don’t take away the horizon,”,

She whispered softly,

“where will my sun rise when he wakes up in the morning?”

——————————————————————————————————————-

Note: This is the 200th post on this blog. I have been blogging for almost six years now, but this blog was set up three years ago. 200 posts in three years is certainly not a big deal. I know people who have done as much in a year.

Yet I feel solemn and grateful tonight.

This virtual space has been my only solace more times than I care to count. It has been my catharsis; it has been the shoulder I have cried on. It has also been a place of growth as many, many of you have shared your stories with an open heart. You trust and generosity has opened my eyes and heart to the invisible epiphanies that I might otherwise have remained blind to, but for the light of your grace. Thank you for this gift, my dear readers. You bless my life.

May god keep you in His care and give you reasons to be grateful.

Love,

Dagny

PS: Err… sorry for throwing a poem at your unsuspecting heads. I know I can’t twirl a decent word, but indulge me this once. Please. 😀