Nightwalker’s Mind

Greetings, nightwalker. For much time did the journey slow down its pace, yet by the darkest moment of day has the wanderer sought out over his paths. Much have you witnessed by the day: the enraged storm that arrived all of a sudden, only to recede in no time; the crippled soul struggling on his way back. The anger of the nature, the storm befell, devastating signs of vibrancy and rejoice. As if the gathering of clouds foreshadowed the impending disaster, bit of raindrops descended as signs of warning. Yet the one’s ignorance ultimately blinded himself. Thus heavy storm fell onto his body, deep within his soul, drenched; a soul, crippled, struggling to bring him back.

Alas, suffering of man it is. Should I recover from the wounds of storm, scars are perpetually left; so leaves man’s mind permanently corrupted, damaged by the coldness of that rain. How have I born the tremendous suffering, for that every once it appears, memories are never erased. More comparable over the physical torment of my body, whereupon my arms broken, skin charred, yet would ultimately be repaired and rebuilt; those scars are nevertheless unremovable. Pathetic.

More have I felt myself predestined, for that the foreshadowing of events was as clear as predictions, as if the prophecy has fulfilled its ruthless pledging upon the miserable one. Even the merciless storm foretold its arrival by the darkening, grayish clouds, and I long felt myself los in the wild lands, in search of the direction. Ah, the direction, so determined; never have I been granted the right to choose over the road to take.

So have I departed towards the roads at night in search of opportunity. But look, even the dimmest corner has been left traces of my footsteps, for that the night walk has taken its part of journey for long. I shall not repeat, lest the brilliance of mind crafts loses its brightness. Hence I am the nightwalker, waiting for the unwitnessed to come.

Nightwalker observes the night skies. He sees the dome of the firmament as the black wings of angel. And the night deepens the hue to match the tone of his soul, so that whenever he walks under the night sky, a resonance is experienced. Well is his vision investigated: rays of lights stab into his eye, flashes of crowds blur the sight, yet an anonymous path lies within. Unwitnessed, the road is. A divergence from the forest of concretes, a quietness longed but not observed. Friend, shall you step upon the forsaken road, for that no one but the wanderer shall step it upon.

I have seen the seeing within my dream. I dreamed of a road by the night, barely lighted by the occasion lamps, so the darkness well persisted. As I walked once, so am I revisiting this secret path. But has it thus become no more than another recurrence, a predestined fate, for that the experienced ones would end up hampering my vision? I shall observe that the path is yet full of novelty, so let me proceed my step.

Much quietness, a bus station that is seldom devoted to operation, leaving but the traces of the forgotten past. Have I once stepped to a similar one, where those shattered shards of memories were recollected. As old and as abandoned, I could see no one but the unclear words etched upon the wall, only to remind me of my past residence.

Ah, nightwalker upon the night road. A lone figure only accompanied by his shade, a disturbance of the road’s inherent peace. But look at the man: moving as if unmoved, speaking as if voiceless, for he has come all by his wills, and that the only person he shall share his mind with is himself. Nor are footsteps left on the cemented path, as the man strolls without traces.

Ah, nightwalker under the night skies. Wanderer of his minds, of spectacles and meditation. Peaceful as the surrounding, who would ever seek into his mind? Mind of still water, of piano sonata, of concealed thoughts. Indeed, who would ever mind taking the shortest glance, for that the man is no more than a lost soul in the deep. Nor will he think much; he steps and visions.

Wanderer, watch upon your side. Occasionally will the trains pass by, loaded with people, loaded with yellow light. Have I wondered the views within, for that none can be seen but grass fields of nowhere. Now as I step across the road, with the empty field surrounded, I shall understand: never expected it to be as near.

Near, thus more visible. Crowds embraced under light and warmth; lone one suffered from the shadow outside. The flash of train travels as fast, its images stabbing my eye. It well reminds of the Celebration, where the tower of light shelters suffered ones, a torchlight under the coldest night. Shall I not be distracted by such, lest the darkness rampages upon my mind. So will I proceed.

Ah, I presume I have arrived at the end of the road. Lamp flashes still, of faint, dim yellow lights, casting the end that bears mere trees and fences. Alas, my path has terminated, so be the unwitnessed one, lost forever. But I see birds flying across, over the treetop, over the fences, over the obstacles. How have I wished to become a flying creature, to pass the hampering and thus enlighten my sights! An omniscient knower, the beloved one shall be. Creature of power, lead me my way, use your might of flight to clear out the math of mine!

Hence shall I follow. Roads of no traces, an opening unnoticed. Much to my blinded vision, have I not seen the extended way. Vast fields lie in the forward, a few pedestrians on the side. Roads linking, a field gives the sense of openness. Fields under the night skies, a sanctuary devoid of car noise and stabbing light. Shall I take a picture to mark my arrival.

But where lies the exit? All I could see are expanding fields that lead to no end. Shall I not return to where I entered, as thus would unleash the demon that devours my heart. But even the far-stretching end renders no ways of exist, only to stand by the sealed gates. I have not come to be entrapped, nor will the inner despair perturb my destination.

A returning, a repetition, a reversal of the paths taken. Will I not give up my determination, for that the remaining part of the main road is yet remained unseen. Ah, the pathway of resolution, of the nightwalker who reflects his minds. I once been to this place; so have I remembered it. Many years ago did I dream of the world of exploration, where everything had not begun until the visiting of this where. The location fell the exact same; let those memories be recollected.

Well have I seen. The direction of lights, it is. Lights from the city, yet not as intimidating as it was before, as the distance reduced the conflict. I will embrace the field where everything started its pace, so will I find the exit right upon.

Indeed. Under the giant tree lies the shortcut, a dirt path created by mere pedestrians. None shall restrict man’s mind, for it is the symbol of openness, of meditation. Summer breezes whisper across my face, passing through the leaves shaking, branches waving. Farewell, night roads, the inspiration among the few.

Cities and buildings lie ahead: distance well exists, yet the field is well connected with them. Buildings lit up as witnessed for thousand times, a view of the city, a counterpart of the field. From now on I am the nightwalker; hence will I return.

Crazed man walked by the sanctuary of garden. Rays of sunlight purifies every piece of darkness, leaving all but whiteness and light to be experienced. Crazed man wears the white robe, wandering across.

By the greatness of endless light, let the shadows of my soul be obliterated, thus they shall no longer remain. Alas, I have come across the garden, of traces of aspirations in the lost time. I now stand by the ending of the sight once casted, yet I see nothing but void, vacuum, nonexistence. I have come over lands and mountains; I have come back, revisiting. Were you still here waiting, for my return?