Before the Storm

As if the far scenes have faded farther, as if the greyish trees have waned – the island that has gone.

Indeed. For the days have we witnessed the clear skies, where the winds were the mere whisperer, where the space has been the grand stage of the sole wanderer. Must have you remembered the vision of the station forsaken, where the scripts were etched, the artifacts stood, as if waiting for the seeker to reveal the tales long gone. You, the fortunate one, have been granted the experience – what we considered to be the journey. We talked; we meditated. A story of the ocean and the memory of shards.

For the days that we greeted earlier, where the orb of leading light still persisted. Color has always been its theme: the fiery red of the sunrise where the two wisemen observed, the green of the garden where the chants were created, and the white of the city where the storm once arrived. As if thousands of pages of the book of the mind have been flipped for days and nights, as if the taleteller has been yet onboard his journey toward the once-pursued aspirations – before the dark times arrived. We yet talked; we yet meditated. Yet a story of mere ideals.

Days for the color has filled upon; days for the firmament has occupied beyond. But, my friend, today is the day of fogs. Today is the day of fogs, of the colorless mists that shaded the lands. As if the world has turned to its white page, where the flourished colors has hidden themselves, yet to leave the mist of whiteness covering it upon, below the overshadowed azure and clouds. Fogs of the treachery! For it was you who glimmered below the shadowed sky. Fogs of the greed! For it was you who devoured the brightness and hues.

And the island, for so, has gone, overwhelmed by the omnipresent haze. So passes the island.

Where we are heading toward is a more civilized place. Notwithstanding the parks and the gardens, the place has been the residue of my memory of shards. And for that, I must pay a visit toward the nearly faded ones.

How has meant by the faded ones? Over much course of the journey have we stepped onto, yet the memories were never stored within, neither was the far past nor the meditation.

Memories before the darkened age – the point neither me nor you would attempt upon. Was it the time I yet sought for the aspiration, as if the lone walker has set out for his journey. Have I visioned the skies upon the night with the one strolling beneath; then I moved toward the south, in search of the said road at the dark night. Last traces ever seen by the sight of mine, yet I have well witnessed the idea inside – the exact reason for the journey today.

My apologies for digression. Please forgive me of my carelessness, for the mistakes I have committed. Near the misplaced trail have we stepped on, yet the misjudgment has soon been discovered. Truly have I understood the aftermath of the ongoing mistake – it could draw me beneath the depths, as was I years before.

For the understanding have you achieved, I now forgive you. Yet there remains another confusion, the question that remained for years. For years have you been constantly changing, as you have become a distinct person from the you two years ago. There is, however, one aspect of you that never changed – will I ask you, then, that why the journey has been undertaken for more than once. Either the evolution of your mind or the vast shift in the manner you behave; either the aspiration that has stood or the meditation that has been born – none would alter the journey, as if it aroused by the light of the city, at the residence of the beloved one.

The journeys have well existed, indeed. And the answer is the tales untold. For more than once have I become overconfident over the poor wisdom of mine, believing all the sights have been seen. Yet for more than once have my assertions been nullified, for that the tales untold have been emerging, over the thoughts and the sights of mine. For the exact reason, as you shall believe, have I been keeping the journeys for over and over, in seeking of the great aspirations of yours and mine.

Shall we end up this pointless digression. Will you raise your head and your eyes and watch above the air and the clouds. As if the foretold scenes are about to happen, the clouds have roared as waves; the clouds have stormed as whirls. As if many beings have been astonished, the entirety of space has been left for no more than the mere traveler. Rumors have spread that the traveler has witnessed the wonders of thousands upon, yet to be stunned by the impending storm. And for this brief moment before the storm, we stand here upon, beneath the endless welkin of vast unexplored.

Do not be blinded by the dire beyond, for the danger has to take long to reach upon. Will you be focusing on the roads ahead, where you and I have strolled a month before.

Shall not submerge yourself under grief,
For the moment only come in brief.
Cherish in the times that still feel warm,
Far from the island, before the storm.

So will I understand. And as you said, what lies forward is the road accompanied by forests, where I once stepped on before. An unexpected discovery, yet has stored part of my minds within – barely hearing the restless noise of the roaring vehicles, more of a tranquil sanctuary it is. Branches swing out from the red walls, covering the two universities that stay. Yet the mood has went beyond the both, as if the revival of the southern forests, where the mists cluster alongside the mountains and streams, with the fishing boat atop the hazed rivers – where I once dwelt within. Henceforth the memories have persisted, long as the road became explored, with the one wandered.

It only belongs to the mere tranquility; none of the noisiness has interrupted its peace. Shall I silently walk through, at the moment before the storm. Indeed, barely have the pedestrians come across, leaving the balance to its own. Soundlessly observe the sight, will both of us comprehend its essence.

Relief down your nerve;
Stay, hold, and observe.
By the haze of white,
Watch upon your sight.

That well reminded me of the events that followed. Soon after the first journey ahead, my vision blurred; my sights darkened – the soulless one stood still. Look upon yourself – your hand so charred by the flame of anger, your arm scorched. And the tears that drop, the words that cry. Yet from the pacific forest, none of the calmness have I perceived.

Sadness has blinded your vision; do not bewitched by the fearing roar. You yourself has been torn asunder, of the sanity that preserved or lost. Open your eyes, my friend, your real eyes. Behold the where that stretches afar and the branches of leaves along. Despite that too many scenes you have witnessed, do not be deceived upon.

Beware the deceitful fear,
As with the storm drawing near,
Behold the where that stretches
And the end that it fetches.

You have well led me toward the great path. It seems that the vision has come to the chanter that sings over the land, whose lyrics have formed the clouds and the fogs. And yet there are many more scenes to be seen…

Truly there are. It seems that the journey has resolved upon the end of the road, by the edge of the ocean, the mists hovering. Yet again the storm has been approaching; soon will it rampage across the sky and the land. Will you, my friend, wait and behold.

I see the journey bearing no ends; vast storm has arrived upon. Shall the conclusion be drawn by the darkish sky, the image of views blurred.