A wanderer from the medieval age goes about singing hymns of the philosophical roads.Navigation to the wandering souls,his only goal. Roads that are betrayed of real destinations and often meandering us to the paths that aren’t for us, that isn’t worth it, yet we cross our paths, confused, messed up with our own assumptions and judgement about everything under the sun.
Clad in a black robe and messy undone hair entwined into a series of ropes, his words laced with wisdom attained, devoid of proper education but only the wisdom that he has lived with, woken up with, enlightened with, departed with from luxuries and attaining the blessing of the goddess of knowledge, he goes by with a stick, old with wrinkles asserting their rightful freckles all over his calloused body.
Yet there seems to be a charm with which he taps the earth, with which he gulps gallons of water from the pure waters that flows and you can see him blessing the new born with his slender stick and sing from his throat.
The Navigation Song
Sober are the roads, plethora imbibed
Walls built are grotesque, navigation explored!
Strings the heart with a thread to the brain or is it otherwise.
Inside us remain our souls, struggling!
Cooped up in our own Prison.
Only seen is the status of the dreams
Where did the actual dreaming go?
All of us drying up in the heat of our own suns
A sun that captures our soul,
Cooped and fried in our own illusions.
Rise before it’s too late
From across the skies, the hefty assignor
Decides your fate and destiny will Play
Regardless of your consent
Perish is what will happen with your dark thoughts
Meandering the ways, before it’s too dark
Let your destined path be brightened
With the wisdom of the old and new
With the fresh and dry
And there you will find a way from all these miseries
Know not how to tell you that people have lived
Turned into dust with passing time
So will you, the only difference
Is about what you tether in your hearts
Let it shine with love and prosperity
Towards the human kind.
You are not the only one here; there is greater power, greater destiny and the greater hand called TIME.
And so the wanderer goes lost in his own thoughts playing the wand of navigation to the civilizations!
His words are a constant sting into the king’s ears, for he lived in utopia, a world that was real only to him, built from the tears, from the sweat of his people.Those people who respected him, people who pledged to serve him, people who bowed in his presence, people who he could whip and yet be blessed. The wanderer was a threat; the wanderer was to be hanged, for his words, for his songs that were enshrining the formative thoughts of the era, those that never held importance in his rule!
Complied to his orders, the true life was strangled and suffocated ,cooped up in the powerful hands and what nobody could know was of the birth of new life in the palace while the wanderer breathed his last entombing the free ideas! Before his soul could fly, he smiled knowing his destiny, the king would be perished and the kingdom would be saved, he was the heir now! With power, he would change the boards of life of the dark shadows.