The Symbol

Once there was a bridge that lured these hitchhikers. And the lane towards the west stooped upon the reflection of their shadows. Each of them had obsessive blot of silver linings. Like a chain of lightening tattooed across the sky. I do remember the relics of laughter. But the picture portrayed on this shale had a startling symbol.  All the promises revealed in it had happened to the hitchhiker. I remember the first day I met her, and set her as my only love in a dream. I knew she had a fondness to the roses. For I knew they had thorns – but it was worth it. Every time when I used to shuffle off in this hall of mirror space, I saw myself broken into pieces. But – there were roses shattered along with me in each of them. My journey was in between a lane to another. And the wooden bridge is all I had to cross the blockade.  As I turned back the pages in a log that I treasured close to my heart, I found a silhouette on the 27th page...

It was a wintry dawn. The day the flowers in my lawn refused to leer. They stood alone, soaked beneath the soil where we have come from – and go to. My spirits rant. They don’t pant. The symbol on that shale had a tremendous brunt. And ever since I discovered it, amidst the barren land, above the platoon where angels resided, I longed for a new beginning. Today, I remember the lane that lured the hitchhikers. And the wooden bridge dangled like a ring to the hills. For all the time spent in a hall of broken mirror space, I, and these roses craved for the same crescent face in my heart. And it beats like a child’s first taste of freedom away from his home. Do you know how it appeared to me? Do you see the symbol? As when my mind wandered across the sweet sorrows of yesteryear, I heard the distant hymn of a child. She sang a sweet song in her sweet voice. And it lured me. All I knew was that, the place had a forsaken church. And the wooden bridge was the only way to get there – to worship the grand saviour, in a place where the angels fly so lo and nigh. That silhouette... That silhouette on my log and the symbol on the shale had a similar meaning... And it guided me towards the wooden bridge once they used to hunt for... For it used to haunt all...

Today, I stand upon this bridge. The wooden bridge... And the rose flower that I have got in my hand is for her... It’s just a bridge away... When the clouds pour, and the breeze move the haze afar, I’ll take a huge step... to cross the bridge... And I still hear a sweet voice from the other side... Where the angels fly lo and night... For I should have known a long time ago that... the symbol was her love...