And this life has always been a mystery, to you, to me and to Kashiv. He doesn’t usually go out and when he does he spends the whole day in one place, staring at the sky, mountains and the forest.
He shares a kinship to everything around him flowers, light and pebbles. He likes being one with the nature and so strips himself and lies naked under the shade of the tall tree he does not know the name of.
In time his body will be covered with dirt, mud and dry leaves. He will be no different than a dead man, buried.
No one knows what goes inside that head of his, that is if he has one; and so no one can tell what he feels or understands or experiences when he does this little act of madness.
Kashiv felt a love that cannot be defined, described or understood. He felt it in his veins like the flow of blood, undulating.
The forest, water and fire are what we are made up of, through which we rise and to which we shall fall.
Kashiv pulled a small note book out from the inside pocket of the jacket hanging on the branch of the tree under which he had lain naked. He now took a pen from the same pocket and sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree nearby and began to write:
Love was so much in the rain,
Broke from cloud not in vain,
To meet its eve down it came.
Convivial was so much even the leaf,
So the tree it had to leave,
To meet its origin it did heave.
Want was so much in the stone,
Left the mountain and was lone,
To meet its love rolled in tone.
Unaware was so much of the ultimate roar,
Gave all, now came on shoulders four,
To meet its meaning in the shore.
Kashiv replaced the things back to their places and dressed himself and stared walking, unknown, uncertain and unflinching.
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