. . . verdant hills.
Light is the way and not the ray on your path.
It is your essence and not some field.
It is darkness though it glows;
It is you in every throes.
Light is everything you feel besides who you are,
It is your darkest secrets and nascent call.
Light is that time after eternity
When you again smell the roses;
And see the verdant hills clasp the wind.
Light is you in a blazing war for hope;
Light is home, and the exacting quest for it.
– M. V. Echa
Author’s Note: “… We live in a precarious world and man is becoming an endangered species. We are barred from profitable introspection of our existence and day-to-day experiences by the urgent need to survive, by the burdening expectations others have of us and the galling standards set up by the society and cultural milieu we find ourselves.
Nevertheless, we must hold humanity in a wide embrace; we must keep listening to the whisperings of nature, for the desert winds form the beautiful barchan dunes.
Words remain our most prevailing vehicle of expression; the most efficient tool for the categorization of our various and varying feelings whether love or hatred, fear or courage, pain or ecstasy etc.
Thus, we must avail ourselves the use of the power of language to get in touch with our soul, to stand in and out of our experiences, to paint on the canvas of thought the delightful portrait of our persistent reality, and to daintily spool the threads off the bobbin of knowledge.
There is miracle in writing, for which I am not indebted to my vain pride. I owe the words penned on the fragile pages of [these articles]… to the rain of reflexions that fall in due season, though not in spring.”