Confessions of a lonely traveler, who started off for his dreamland
“Love, hear thou / How desolate the heart is, ever calling” —James Joyce
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The traveler is primarily a dreamer. His dreams showed him that there was a destiny awaiting him that required his presence to achieve its fulfillment.
He trusted the dream and its call. That enabled him to revolt against his parochial family, his own homesickness, and lethargy. The dream supplied the impetus to move on.
The journey had begun.
The road was a picture of hope and the sun shining eternally above was a priceless gem. The traveler walked on.
The wind was a torrent of life. He sucked on it each time the gush of the invisible felt on his face. The traveler walked on.
All his memories were signposts reminding him where to return home. The heart of the traveler, though, felt the pull of a two tongued bate. He was missing something, someone.
Love—his heart was pulling at his beloved.
The traveler had left her in his quest for the Destiny. But he also knew that it is for this Destiny he was sent to live on this planet.
The traveler remembered the taste of togetherness and as a result, shadows of regret crossed his path.
The traveler could not walk on. The same heart that had given him the dream, now felt heaviness and sorrow for what the traveler had left behind.
Leaving someone behind—is it the same as loss? He thought. No, he said to himself. The traveler could not walk on; because his heart was struggling to give him proof that no one was lost. The heart did it through invoking all his memories.
Suddenly, the traveler realized, all his memories about his beloved existed and she was right here, inside his mind. But then, a silvery gleam slithered down his cheek—his tears.
The traveler looked around for a shoulder to cry. But there was none. He was alone. Each drop of tear was a confession. But the traveler did not know what the tear drops confessed. There was nothing to feel regretful about, there were no sins committed.
The traveler knew elaborate teaching from great masters, saying just take the next step, for beyond the next turn you might find your Destiny smiling at you.
But his tears did not stop and the loneliness demanded confessions too.
Now the traveler knew what to confess, but feared he would lose his dream forever. Still, the heart was adamant. And he said the words out loud. He knew that the road in front of him that was a picture of hope was paved on the expectations of those he left behind.
He knew that the sun that seemed a priceless gem was shining at the cost of someone else’s tears.
He knew the wind that filled his lungs with life, kept its trails on the prayers of the guardian spirits what awaited him at the place he called home.
So he confessed it all. He confessed he was feeling lonely, sad, torn, and lost and moreover afraid of losing his dream. He confessed...
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[“The confessions of a lonely traveler” is my new series of i-poems. The series is titled, “The Geometry of Loneliness”.
Dear reader, please wait for the next post that will appear here tomorrow. It is difficult for me to post it today itself, as I am running short of time. I have a journey to make. Yes, you got it correct. The traveler, who started off for his dreamland is
I. The traveler, who started off for his dreamland is you
|Chinua Achebe (1930-2013)|
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I would like to dedicate this post to ‘the father of African literature’, Chinua Achebe, who died at the age of 82 when things are falling apart in a world which he paved with words and imagination, a fellow traveler.