This is one of those random photographs that just present themselves to you. I was walking quite in the opposite direction, when somebody talking in the distance caught my attention, making me turn around, fish my phone out of my front pocket and capture this.
At the time, I barely saw how it turned out. And well, quite literally I had a stare down with the sun for causing such inconvenience.
Later that day, I was scrolling through my gallery and I see this picture, again. And it hits me, how representative it was of the nostalgia that encompassed me, of leaving, of that urge, that longing to stay.
On the spur of the moment, I wrote these lines :
"I grow attached all too soon,
to places that embrace with open arms
yet never promise to keep.
This land repels,
it never makes room for me,
tightly clenching the breath of its soil
within sealed fists.
It welcomes only visitors,
that come with an intent to leave,
I will forever be a visitor,
a passerby dwelling
from village to village,
from one city light to another,
in search of an entity I am yet to define. "
An incomplete poem is what this is , and perhaps,I will find the words to complete it one day.
It's funny how one day is all it takes to be this close to something and then find it gone.