There are tints of joy wrapped in solitude
That stalk the mind while it wanders alone
Over clement fields or on randomly strutted hills
Like scarlet rose in a dry summer wind.
Beauty is gone on fairies’ trip
And the days now come with many night falls;
Reliving memories in reverie’s shadows
Has become the lust of my sober soul.
Let it come, I so plea,
The dragging eve of endless thoughts,
When the horizon falls before the lighted skies,
Like a gypsy spring,
That taunts and blooms the mellow shores.
– 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 effective 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.”