Hopes and apprehensions

As this time again I almost make it to my voyage to home, thoughts, hopes and wishes assail my mind. There is also a shade of fear and apprehensions that lurk behind. As you cannot separate light from its eternal twin, the shadow, so the possibility of an unfulfilled desire, or disappointment from an audacious hope, from the courage to dream.

I will be, most likely that is, in little over a month, be sitting on the same chair, in this very room, ruminating over the days I have just spent, immersed in joy and jubilations, in celebration of life, as it happens when festival arrives at last, after much anticipation. And like all jubilations, will the excitement of the euphoria get frozen in memory, as a source of both fondness for all posterity, as well as misty nostalgia, lost forever to the wheels of times?

This time my jaunt would also halt and rest at the abode of peace, highest and ephemeral. The bird, tired of flying high and low, seeking refuge and comfort in the clouds and trees, will stop by the springs of eternal life. Every time it comes to the spring, it wets its beaks or moisten its wings with the immortal drops. But soon it gets dry, retaining only the memory of its aroma and magic and the yearning to return. In hope of getting drenched more than ever before, retaining it longer than ever before and soaked more than ever before, in the light of immortality, in its search for stillness, in its fulfillment.