THE HILL AND THE GORGE
The hills were high and the gorge was low. The hill overlooked the gorge and watched its beauty. The meandering abyss seemed to have been dancing with a spree. A carefree lass – transparent and innocent. It went so far as the mountain could see. Far away, it vanished into the mist. She was no loner with abundant admirers. The gods, the winds, the whispers, the mist and fog, the vacuum, the clouds, the souls and the spirits – all yearned for her.
The hill sighed. The winds and the whispers picked it up and took it to the gorge. Mixed with the emotions were the pains for longing and belonging. The mist guessed it and intermingled itself with the message transforming the emotions into an eternal mystery. The clouds hugged the hill, kissed it passionately and cried aloud. The vacuum was created. The sunlight tried to penetrate it. Every morning, it comes with a zeal renewed and sprinkles the last drop of colour in the twilight to be lost in the melancholy. Comes the night, comes the darkness and the hill talks to the gorge in whispers.
The hill loves the gorge….
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