The Road Less Travelled


Tall trees in bloom with several violet flowers, the flapping red flag high up on the tomb of a temple; I drive through the sharp turns, moving closer and further from the rocky walls. The chilly wind piercing through my skin, hair trying to veil my eyes, blocking the view of the endless mountain peaks that can only meet the sight.

Old, vacant dwellings, far from each other. Bridges connecting the roads that were never meant to be. I don’t like to see co-travellers during this journey.

The mountains are too big to ascend and their peaks too difficult to reach. When I turn and climb in an attempt to elevate, I want to be the only soul perceptible. Hills must be the place where the holy spirits dwell; human presence may kill their peace. I witness the birds flying in one direction, then resting and larking at a sight invisible to me.

I want to have a conversation with who they see, ask them if they are searching for something as well. Whether they have any companions, or if they too dream of a mysterious place similar to these hills.

I am still waiting for an answer, while the hues of vermilion turn into a silver sky without stars. The hissing wind sounds like the heavy breathing of someone tired of walking miles, with the satisfaction of having accomplished a purpose in its pause. I stare into the nothingness to see the motion of light, leaving the place tranquil with neighbouring darkness of the night. He left again, may be to seek another human like me, to convince them of a fulfilment just like they did to me.