a nod to the wise--a nod to the bold--a nod to you whose bags sag with gold i'll tell you a tale you've not heard before-- so gather yer kin and come settle in listen to the ballad of the lost troubadour...
the troubadour, i met him, in a land far far from here and it happened so very long ago--but the memory i still hold dear during my years of wandering i passed once thru a town the name of it escapes me--it was of little renown
but in the centre square i heard song to stay my way so i found a patch of comfortable grass and ate my meal for the day all the while listenin'--thru my wine bread and cheese-- to the music of the troubadour putting my soul at ease
the troubadour, he sang first of the joys of finding love painting pictures of dancing lovers in the cosmos up above of the beauty of existence which love only magnifies and of indescribable mystery seen in your sparkling eyes
the bliss that comes from forgetting self thru entering another and the destruction of shiva-consciousness by the terrible black mother thru what muse such words were birthed i scarce could make a guess all i know is the weary soul of this traveller felt at rest
the song went on--the troubadour, he was not finished yet he sang of loves lost and loves unfound--of the tears wept and the tears still left delicately weaving webs of sorrows causing sorrows starlight thru the captured dewdrops--living hope for tomorrows tomorrow
the troubadour sang with words of beauty and words of elegance of being consumed by the fires of regret and of losses emptiness then the troubadour began to sing about how everything must end and that clinging to impermanence only brings suffering, my friends
he stood there with tears still fresh in his eyes and a smile that covered his face and sang to us the end of his song before disappearing without leaving a trace in a voice that i found to be both uplifting and unaccountably sad he gave us the lesson he had learnt thru living the life that he had:
"tho the lofty height that is loves light must inevitably mean a fall it is truly better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all so love each other just as you wish others to love you and now this humble poet bids you all a heartfelt adieu "
watching thru a trance as his figure walked on by i caught a glimpse of the infinite in the chance glance of an eye inspired by my awe for the performance t'was just past i reached out my hand, for his shoulder i to grasp
"your music, it was beautiful, " i told him as we touched "and to this soul, on this particular day, it has meant very very much" at my sound, the troubadour paused, and turned to me to say "this warms my heart to hear your part--now, let me go away"
silence was his curtain as i heard his steps recede and i don't know why i followed but that i felt some pressing need so tho we've reached the point where countless tales complete listen to what's different from those which are replete
"troubadour! before you go please just answer me how eyes can hold such sadness behind words of bold beauty" he slowed his pace--then turned around--to me alone he said "these eyes that behold beauties bloom, saw roses red go dead
tho time has passed, its only hardened that lesson from so far back that no matter how colourful the flowers today, tomorrow they all turn black fires of passion reduce to ash an' wait once again to be sown with this in mind, i left behind everything i once thought my own"
not waiting around for my reply, he continued on his walk and i, your simple storyteller, bravely followed to continue our talk "if indeed it is true that you have no home, where is it you head to now? is there no place at all in this great wide land with a bower under which you may bow?"
"there's been but few times i've encountered the feeling of what you may call a home but only so much time is able to pass before i return to the road, all alone something is missing--i'm not sure what--whether within or if it's without yet it's only when i stay still that i notice, so instead i wander about
for don't you see, unfortunately, i'm stricken with a curse most gross this circumstance--oh! happenstance!--afflicts only whom i love most if i don't share--if i'm never there--inner peace i help folks to find but those same folks feel uneasy--and admitting this sure ain't easy--if ever i dare bare my mind
so i try not to long for that intimate bond which i remember from far in my past and i hope for the day that lies further away where my sadness is ended at last in the meantime i cultivate stillness of mind--express beauty in the form of my songs --but i fear i've revealed too much to you now--my last words? a simple 'so long' "
well he continued on while my steps slowed--i don't think he heard my goodbye and tho years sep'rate me from this lonely souls song, the memory can still make me cry so i hope you have listened to the troubadours lesson, around which my story revolves to love unconditionally--despite lifes fragility--something to which we all should resolve
and the next time that the words of a wandering poet bring you peace, think then of their cost just remember that sometimes those who wander do so cause they're actually lost
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Edited by shivas.wisdom (08/16/15 09:15 PM)
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