The voiceless songbird

Awoken by the smooth crashing and curling of the glistening waves, by the sunrise and its beautiful rays, by the music that a traditional band plays and greeted by smiles that have waited for days to see two lovely souls unite, chant and praise. I lower my gaze in appreciation, humbleness and a slight tinge of unjustified shame, what fortune have I come across and what deeds have I accumulated to be so preciously treated?

“When the one man loves the one woman and the one woman loves the one man, the very angels desert heaven and come and sit in the house and sing for joy.” – Brahma Sutra

They stretch out their arms in embrace, they offer me guidance just in case I was lost and couldn’t maintain the pace that it took to see what I wanted to see before the sun resigned back into space… I think, I thank and I refuse. I move through linear constructions, shrouds of nature and curious stares that seem to be questioning “who is this dweller that resembles us, yet does not speak our tongue?”. The lack of verbal communication builds a depth in each interaction that wouldn’t have been attained had we expressed ourselves with words. I feel grateful for being a voiceless songbird in one of the greenest and most luscious fields known to man and beast alike.

A sweet scent travels softly through the air, it’s the scent of the delicacies that a hardworking woman prepares. The little ones run around in fascination, excitement and playfulness, there’s so much joy and pleasure exuded from their little bodies it could have powered the whole town for years and years. I maintain my composure, but cannot prevent my face from smiling, I put one foot in front of the other and only briefly glance at them from the corner of my eye, they stop their game and look up at me, I fight the urge to turn around and pick them up, I tell myself that I am separate, that I am a stranger and it would be unfair to create to create such a transient bond, on such fertile grounds and with such innocent souls.

What is home but a sensation of familiarity? What is familiarity but a feeling of comfort and safety? Must home be a place? Must it be a land that one never wants to leave or always wants to return to at every occasion of separation? Must I have a physically existent settlement to truly be settled? I don’t currently believe so, but I do hope to remain to find my soul’s content regardless of how quick I move, who I am with and where I am. I am a roaming man and despite the desire to connect and be a part of people’s lives physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually, I accept it for what it is and not how I want it to be.

10 thoughts on “The voiceless songbird

  1. The serenity of the Mughal Empire and the land of Gandhi comes out mixed with the smell of mixed curries in this posting. I’m there looking at the undulating hills and sleepy rivers, walking quietly in chappals and listening to Roamosapien’s silence.

    Please allow me to share Kipling with you:

    “If you can keep your head when all about you
    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
    If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
    But make allowance for their doubting too;
    If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
    Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
    Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise”.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you again Nigel and I trust our illustrations will. I look forward to seeing the ones you create on your coming trip! I am feeling pleased, grateful and excited for you and your support.

      Like

  2. Lovely structure of words, amazing to see you celebrate your Home coming with great set of thoughts to ponder… I am sure you have been a sapien all over … cheers

    Liked by 1 person

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