The silence surges forward. It hushes, leaps, seeps. The quiet and quaintness of the tea gardens inhale the calmness under another sky. Tea bushes have a different kind of intimacy. They tap breeze at times writing dozy metaphors. All the shadows are buried near Eagles Crag. Are they absurd evil? On the hill slope, the red of the tin shades disappears in the mist. Prayers fall into the void.
Preju brings the two leaves and one bud and places them on my palm. Is this the long life eyebrows? Is this the silver tip? The aroma wafts in and falls inside my iris. And finds a way to my dreams. There are cracks in the rockface far and above. Everyone is drowned in whispers. I can see the endless wild uprush in the green. I still stare. It is beauty, it is fulfilment, it is rest.
in luminous silence