Solitude

In utter solitude, I watched, sitting in front of the crackling fire, how it lapped up and swallowed the logs. Its brightness shone upon my face- the only brightness in the dark and placid night at the beach. I stared at it for a long time. Three days in wilderness were still not enough to escape the constant nagging, the perpetual frustration.

In utter recluse, I listened, to the gushing sound of the waters- waters that were free, strong and potent, waters that rose as and when they liked and fell, as and when they liked, waters that weren’t steered by fate, as they guided their own.

In utter seclusion, I felt the night breeze as it waltzed with my tresses, carrying them along. How I wished that it could carry me with itself, to places afar, full of tranquillity and peace, where I could fly with the breeze and discover and explore and be free.

In the concourse of the three, I strummed my guitar. I watched the crackling fire and gave it a rhythm, with the strings that vibrated with the crackle. The fire danced on the tune of my guitar

In the concourse of the three, I invited the waters to add on their beats, with the gushes and rise and fall and surf of the waters. The sound of the tide, the heights of wave, they gave my music a nice ring.

In the concourse of the three, I appealed to the breeze to dance, and it did, with rapture! It swung my tresses and my mind along. It took me to places afar, and gave me words, for my music, words full of tranquillity and peace.

Air, water, fire and song, they composed me. The solitude was not palpable. It did not exist anymore. My mind was drifted. I could go back home now. Only to come back some years later, in utter solitude.