The road I took was the path of sombre solitude,
I felt peace at last, a soothing effect on my heart.
I left all, left everything only to be with me,
To travel through my favourite paths,
Through the silent woods with a hint of sunshine guiding me.
To be under the branch of the familiar bougainvillea,
Under its pink leaves, falling as if to greet me.
The pink bougainvillea is my mistletoe because it only senses me,
It only longs for me and no one else.
I kept on travelling the never-ending path,
Not feeling fatigued even for once.
Then I saw the familiar stagnant cold waters,
Waiting for no one but just for me.
I reached out, I shivered at first,
But recognized its touch later.
I cupped the water in the palms of my hands,
And splashed it across my face.
I felt alive, felt my story could be rewritten.
As I stepped out of the water, stepping on each stone,
I realised I did not want my story to be rewritten.
Rejuvenation was a distant dream to me,
And I left it to be so.
I walked along the never-ending path,
This time covered with orange flowers everywhere.
I knew this was a dead end and there was no return from here.
But I stayed as I felt validated amongst these orange flowers at last.
And I wanted it to remain so.