The Freedom Whispers

A Homespun Tale Along the Backwoods of Life

Under the rippling virescent canopies of the dreamy blazing skies whose alluring charisma quilted across the nostalgic muddy puddles as a somber reflection of the contemplative unknowns, gazing beguiled through the condoling splotches of an endearing Sun, an ephemeral life lived through such fleeting warmth of a mournful wistfulness reminiscing teardrops and a naively delusional optimism of hopeful dreams, desperately negotiating with the sad reality. And just as that the tempestuous horizons possessing riptides and the cowering turbulent trees which had once so audaciously overshadowed the condescending heavens, die down, their enthralling rebellions in the otherwise incomprehensible watersheds of a chaotic life, lose their livelihoods. A futile existence lulled in the reassuring shadows of a fallacious irrevocable past, priceless lifetimes wasted as a fruitless ode to the starry-eyed resurrections of “what could’ve happened”. And a short-lived consolation over an abandoned shrine as a long lost record player, haunted by its remorseful melancholy harmony which had once orchestrated those defiant naïve aspirations that promised to bear tomorrow’s dawn, evaporated as yet another unsuspecting or perhaps conveniently oblivious, casualty to the dreaded cold-feet of rocking the boat, carving that rare arc of a dewy-eyed smile. Perhaps the menial spoils at the destined end of the lane as the cacophonous first glares of a finally kindled consciousness falters that deceiving infatuation, denouncing a trusting tenuous fascination to a malefic fate and an imperishable absconding through the misty shadows of plaguing law, hunting for the crimes of heresy along the sobbing riverbanks beneath a setting twilight, the demeaning swan song of a frivolous symphony, ne’er culminating to the prophesied swan itself.

Yet, the climactic finality as a ravaging blusterous night darkens upon, as caliginous demented horizon trespasses against with the buried wrath of the balmy zephyrs, the primal instinct of tenacious perseverance at all costs, emblazoned unto a newfound faithful fortitude, the disconcerting bombshells of a solitary legend slowly embellishes into a rosy serenade of thespian thrill and sanguine hope. Through the impulsive resonances, reverberating such enigmatic melodies of spontaneous audacity, as a gingery step turns into an impulsive brisk canter, via some idiosyncratic eccentricity of the divine unsung, a path that never emerged with such anticipating clarity, was suddenly elucidated under the adorning twinkling illumination of a cherished Moon.

As the myriad of an adrift rumination in the company of the revered tranquilities of a stoic life transcends into a decisive satori, enlightening the dramatic “fabled” upheaval in this reclusive forlorn tale beyond the hermit lines of a prosaic impasse, the cowering desolation of the closing walls. And in that juncture of life, underneath the mischievously gleaming epiphanic Moonlight complimenting a poetic expression in the literary sea of luminescing silvery cobblestones, embroidering the consoling tapestries of where it all began under its beaming monochrome heavens when life boils down to a bizarre simplicity, we amble down the eerily reticent showering Moon, whistling into the night with that sage satisfaction, tailing the directing whisps of what had become the freedom whispers…