He would always be Stranger's Inc to me. And I refuse to believe, I won't believe, I can't believe. I...
Stranger, Stranger, O dear friend
Won't you come back and wander the green fields of this earth
Which you so loved?
Won't you come and console us, with your ever soothing words
and make us with peace?
Why you wander far away from us where we cannot follow?
Through fen and field where the long grass grows
The west wind blows
"What news from the west, O wandering Wind, do you bring to me Tonight?
Have you seen a stranger clad all in Inc, by moon or by starlight?"
"I saw him ride over the seven streams, over roads wide and grey;
I saw him walk in empty lands, until he passed away
Into the shadows of the North. I saw him then no more.
The South Wind may have heard of him walking over the moor."
"O Stranger! From the high walls I looked afar,
But you came not from the empty lands where no men are."
"O The North Wind, you ever blow relentlessly with a purpose;
What news, O sighing winds, do you bring to me at eve?
Where now is our Stranger? He tarries and I grieve."
"Ask us not where he doth dwell - so many errands I have to run
Ask of the South Wind news of him the South wind sends to me!"
"O Stranger! We wait for you but you came not.
Tell us what tarries you in a land so far."
From the sea the South Wind comes, laden with mournful tread
"What news do you bring from the South, O mighty wind, do you bring to me today?
What news of D'yer the M'aker? For he is long away. Delay us not with your mournful cries, do tell us what tarries our dear Stranger "
"Beneath the southern sky I heard his cry. His head so proud, his face so fair...but his voice was heard no longer hence..."
I can't write anymore...I don't have the strength left in me to continue.
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
A fairy tale - Part 2
We shall move forward in the course of the history as it is. To know a bit more about our dear boy, who had just lost his master, we shall try to form his thoughts in accordance to the happening of incidents of those moments. And I think it is high time for us to be introduced our character properly to our dear readers. His former master calls him, Matt. And he knows no other name.
To History then:
How the hours passed, I do not know, nor how I slept through the rain; I never knew that one could sleep through, in the rain; it was more like losing consciousness, either from exhaustion or grief. Grief because he was more than a master to me. He was my father, mother, protector, provider, supporter, teacher, friend and everything else in this world. He was the thing I holden on to this world; now I feel all lost. It feels strange. To be so utterly alone, to be so free, yet so afraid. What should I do?
"I shall go to Tamaran", the boy said to no one, exulting in his new found freedom. The morning was bright and warm, nothing remained of the night, except for a fresh mound of earth. A song bird chirped happily in the air, and that filled him with hope. Taking a last look at the mound of earth, where his master rest, he mounted the steed, which was his only possession.
"Fare well, Master"
And he rode. To Tamaran.
To History then:
How the hours passed, I do not know, nor how I slept through the rain; I never knew that one could sleep through, in the rain; it was more like losing consciousness, either from exhaustion or grief. Grief because he was more than a master to me. He was my father, mother, protector, provider, supporter, teacher, friend and everything else in this world. He was the thing I holden on to this world; now I feel all lost. It feels strange. To be so utterly alone, to be so free, yet so afraid. What should I do?
"I shall go to Tamaran", the boy said to no one, exulting in his new found freedom. The morning was bright and warm, nothing remained of the night, except for a fresh mound of earth. A song bird chirped happily in the air, and that filled him with hope. Taking a last look at the mound of earth, where his master rest, he mounted the steed, which was his only possession.
"Fare well, Master"
And he rode. To Tamaran.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
A fairy tale - Part 1
...
And thus it came to pass that the evil queen, her power lost and ousted, fled the monastery and seeken the wild men of the north to take refuge; far away.
If you think you are going to read a fairy tale here, you may as well go elsewhere, for what I am going to relate is not a fairly tale with princess and dragons and charming prince.
But rather, I am going to relate history in its rightful form, without the author's imaginative intervention, as history is ought to be told. It begins thus...
It was raining. A young lad of 15; once he was happy, but that he cannot remember. He could only concentrate on the rain and the horse, the freshly dug grave, his dead master. The earth was soft; the spade made it a quick job; but the dead body was heavy. The boy half tug and half lifted the cold body; the body lifeless and limpid, followed his squire's motion until the it felt the embrace of the earth; cold and unforgiving.
The boy shivered in the chill; it was raining softly. He didn't feel sad but he felt utterly alone. He could not cry; he would not cry; something was stuck in his throat that prevents him from crying; maybe the pang that he was the reason his master is dead. The dim light of the crescent moon was enough for this young lad to pack up the things. He made some quiet prayers for his master. And without any remorse, he rode; to where, he does now know, but he rode.
A few hours later, he came back. To where his master lies. From the horse, he unmounted, and kneeled beside the grave; he could not leave; not just then.
The night was too young to leave the dead.
( History as it is; the author shall try to represent facts in an exact manner as is possible. An update each day is expected from the author, but he gave no promise )
And thus it came to pass that the evil queen, her power lost and ousted, fled the monastery and seeken the wild men of the north to take refuge; far away.
If you think you are going to read a fairy tale here, you may as well go elsewhere, for what I am going to relate is not a fairly tale with princess and dragons and charming prince.
But rather, I am going to relate history in its rightful form, without the author's imaginative intervention, as history is ought to be told. It begins thus...
It was raining. A young lad of 15; once he was happy, but that he cannot remember. He could only concentrate on the rain and the horse, the freshly dug grave, his dead master. The earth was soft; the spade made it a quick job; but the dead body was heavy. The boy half tug and half lifted the cold body; the body lifeless and limpid, followed his squire's motion until the it felt the embrace of the earth; cold and unforgiving.
The boy shivered in the chill; it was raining softly. He didn't feel sad but he felt utterly alone. He could not cry; he would not cry; something was stuck in his throat that prevents him from crying; maybe the pang that he was the reason his master is dead. The dim light of the crescent moon was enough for this young lad to pack up the things. He made some quiet prayers for his master. And without any remorse, he rode; to where, he does now know, but he rode.
A few hours later, he came back. To where his master lies. From the horse, he unmounted, and kneeled beside the grave; he could not leave; not just then.
The night was too young to leave the dead.
( History as it is; the author shall try to represent facts in an exact manner as is possible. An update each day is expected from the author, but he gave no promise )
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