Somewhere in a countryside way down
where the riverside runs deep
where the valleys are numbered with printed flowers
where the snow capped mountains are seen
in the distant..
the evergreen speaks a lonely trail..
Meadows embark in a journey of silence
where no man treads its path in defiance..
Somewhere along the vision it entails
a lonely man's stride makes a trail
of sole footprints..
Walking the lonely path
where no man can reach or thrive
he embodies himself a thought..
If paradise lay unnumbered and desolate
as this..should I not
be a King in this Paradise
Should I not carry my dagger
and preach the wild birds
and not hear their chatter
that their freedom I have curtailed?
Nor should I not know their
feeling of desolation and
lay a bridge between
The lonely man talks the language
of one man for he does
not hear that it curtails much
freedom and that
man does not walk alone
and a lonely paradise
is akin to a land of
no beasts, no wild birds
and no man
In desolation, one dies a lonely death - shobana