Along a deserted road she walked,
Her feet trod, plodded and drummed along the path
Trodden by thousands…or was it millions?
How was she to know how many, before her, have travelled on the deserted road!
And along this road she was a sojourner.
If she had a mind to contemplate, she wouldn’t care,
For that thing yonder was so good-looking
And along that road she endured, stubbornly persisted.
What manner of youthful ideal did she harbour?
Everything that opposed and stood in defiance of all rational thinking.
Do you think she cared? Not at all,
For she allowed herself to believe that the gem she sought
Was so tantalisingly close….within her reach.
That thing dangling before her was so irresistible,
Call it what you may: love, romance, youthful indulgences
If only that thing has a mind, it would speak to her, ‘I am as elusive as ever.’
Along the deserted road,
Everything has neither substance nor permanence.
If only that good-looking thing has a mind to speak, it would say to her:
‘I am not within your reach, I don’t have an existence.’
She came to the end of the road.
A deserted road it was truly not, but a reverie it was!
Everything, including the good-looking things, did exist in the girl’s dream.