Aps- The Muddled Utopian

Away from the rustle of the city, in faraway lands lies her nostalgia. She remembers the landscape like the back of her hand, those thorny bushes, those earthy roads, those clean water lakes. Every passing moment is a symphony of onomatopoeia. There is something there which sounds like her calling, like a scrapbook filled with cutouts of the best adventures. The air smells like stories and the soil beneath her feet holds her, like a dad teaching his little one to walk. Here there are no races to be won, no struggles for survival, on timelines to meet, no chores to be completed, no need to take care of anyone, you are taken care of here. You are groomed, you bloom. These fields are alive, they have conquered monsters of time, like Santa Claus on Christmas, they only know to gift smiles. The girl in the fennel field finds her wonder here, that sparkle in her eyes, that curiosity on her words, that love in her heart. Like fireflies on a moonless night, her exi...

When she ran they chased her, When she fell they held her, When she dreamed they showered sparkle, When she laughed, they echoed her laughter, And when she cried, they held her tears... They were her mates, whom she spoke as the sand slipped in the hourglass, And they answered to her questions without words... When they got entangled in her hair they became her hairband, And when they got stuck between her fingers, they became a ring of promise... They pricked sometimes while she walked on tough roads to ensure that she still feels, She was a wildflower and wildflowers she loved, They reminded her of her soul, wild and free... Wildflowers and She, She and Wildflowers were like the two halves of the pea in the peapod of the world... Wildflowers and she...