The Girl From The Mountain

It’s a diaphane, this day, with all the lives stringed to one another.

The filament of life is asking for something I wouldn’t know.

For this is all but nothing. Or a little something, a little nothing, a little both.

Vertigo! Vertigo! Ends like this. Ends like this.

Little confusion, little confusion, spinning about itself.

Yet wouldn’t know. Wouldn’t know. When to stop and feel stupid.

But now I know. Now I know.

‘til the clouding stops, and mountain starts, I must keep moving. Keep moving.

Keep my shoes clean, and heart abbott.

I’m stupid lot. Stupid lot.

 

When did sweltering heat become the winter gales?

I won’t hear this, but within earshot

Restful, yet I fluster. I once took a red road,

Walked into an Australian day, foamed. Now I defoam.

I must listen, to all the silent lines in my head.

The fate that vanishes, becomes a feat.

And I wake up, waking up with the fowl flow of a river,

That reminds me of a Syrian night, no antigram to go with it.

So I respawn.

 

One stream of consciousness, and I recall,

Half my head is underwater, where things are clear.

The other half, wandering about someplace good in a little light weather.

I hope it’s the same Australian day in the ferns.

Hitherto moving along the daylight, hitherthen dreaming twice,

Of the same Syrian night in the fall,

Where I trip over a lazy way off, and toss my thoughts for a call.

Head; and this mountain is all I have in the middle of another day.

So I must not stop, till I see what she’s like in the sun.

Tail; and I hope she likes the Sun.

 

But who is she? Is she the mountain I want to see?

I always knew people are, where they are.

And not who they are, I know for sure.

Is it morning yet? I walk indifferent, to the sky that keeps changing.

But to tell this a plethora of it, I do not have one.

I feel one ray on my skin, only dreaming of a myriad.

Now this dream sets my skin, sleep inducing,

Not a ray would wake it up, it will take more.

So I keep walking till I see a lot of mornings.

More than I have ever seen, more than I can take.

I have known for long, tranquility not.

 

Why do the most beautiful words not sound so good?

Rhapsodic moments take away all the illness, to not feel so good.

Grotesque vestige of my behaviours, wear me out for the rest of the day.

Yet for long, I couldn’t walk so far, not the fear, but the far.

I am never too afraid to not wait, to not walk the red road.

It’s always like this, waiting seems like walking.

So I wait two miles, walk long in gaze, grimace to go with it.

Not a lot of it, but it still is the story that echoes in my head.

Sits calm in the bucolic, watches me wait, watches me walk.

So I must not stop, till I see the Harbinger become so.

 

This is ineffable, this hearth that has taken the place,

Of mantles in my labyrinth. Love, is the only way I know,

To walk out if it. So I must love what I see.

Penumbra of daily thoughts waiting with me as I walk,

My love is waiting for me in the mountain, as the mountain.

So I must not stop, riparian to this talisman, the one that keeps me going,

Wherewithal to all my quintessence, my love is watching me wait, watching me walk.

And when all lives merge with me, erstwhile.

I must read the first few lines in my head,

And keep going.

 

They say, this love, it is for someone else to take, but I do not care.

I just keep walking, telling my red road romance,

Submerging into it, the panoply of stories I always needed to tell.

To my love.

The girl from the mountain, I must walk up to her.

For only she can end my vertigo,

Or tell me why I should keep spinning, so I don’t stop and brood into it.

I have always loved her in stranger ways I wouldn’t know.