So on a day when the tides were low, and they walked, arms entwined, wading on the waters, instead of the waters rushing towards the shore, washing onto their feet like it normally does,
He asked her if the horizons were an illusion,
Do you think of it as an illusion,
The horizon that separates seas and skies,
That invisible line that harbors colors sublime,
When darkness descends, it transcends into another world sublime?
She stopped to look for that invisible line,
The day was bright and darkness was still far behind,
The horizon was most certainly an illusion,
An illusion to the world below, a union of two creations,
of a universe’s cradle,
The horizon, cloaked and swathed by mystique.
On Shobana’s Book Station:
At the first Dawn of Love
A prayer in India, and a war where good triumphs evil.
Read more here: