It’s always too late…than never!

 

He ran across the road…only to realize that something, somewhere, someone was lost. It was a narrow road, covered with huge trees along the sides. Far off your eyes the blossoming mustard crops were stretched out. The sun was setting leisurely spreading its pastel colors across the horizon. He had to catch the next bus. The glow in his face was wiped off…his eyes were moist…he looked tired…he pondered over a while about her, sitting on a nearby hill. All past memories flared in his mind. The time spent together, how she cared for him, how she always craved for his well-being, how she was emotionally bound with him, how she was concerned about his nitty-gritty things. He choked and gulped down the forlorn moment.

All these days he could not see through her eyes the unconditional love that she bore in her heart…all for him…He made fun, he cracked his jokes, he enjoyed, he talked about his daily chores, and she listened to him carefully every bit he said. They met by the lake side today to tender goodbye; they spoke for a while and unconsciously she expressed how she felt for him.

“Err…but…how…when…you ne’r told…” is all what he said when she further added that she is soon to get married.

Solitary Reaper – William W.

Behold her, single in the field
Yon solitary highland lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
and sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

No Nightingale did ever chaunt [chant]
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard
In springtime from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?–
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been or may be again?

Whate’er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work
And o’er the sickle bending;–
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more

Assimilate..ponder and they express…!

One has to feel the pain ….One has to have a strong heart to be able to bear it….and one has to have a much stronger heart to be able to express it!