“Shut up! Fly, Gothic Birds. Your spell has gnawed at my wits and rotted everything I remember. Fly, now I consider you an illusion. You are nothing but mist of desires, the more I seek you, the more you blur. My clear sight. My longing for you and my ever-renewing utopia is nothing but a fool’s dream. Oh you!, run away, run away, you’ve hurt me enough. You encapsulate me when the darkness is enough and let people make fun of me. because when I introduce you, you turn out to be a mirage. Oh, you’ve filled my brain to a limit where nothing else finds a place. Die, die. Go, for I’ve been cursed for too long.

A beggar in the chalky moonlight said such words while I was amazed and perplexed. I wondered how a beggar in rags could speak in such a fine tone. Out of curiosity, I approached him and asked:

“Oh sir, how are you and what do you long for?”

He looked at me strangely and said;

“Go, because what you hear is not my word but that of my possessor!”

At the sound of what I heard, my curiosity was poisoned with a dark fear and I couldn’t sustain his spell at this late hour of the night. I almost ran as I heard a desolate crack of laughter that fueled the fear that invaded me and my pace quickened….

The next day I woke up in the small town of Warrah, where I had come for winter vacation. He was still filled with the old man’s weirdness. So after breakfast, I went out to look for him again in the sunlight. I searched every corner and street of the small town, but to no avail. Warrah was a small town, where all the people knew each other. So I went straight to my uncle and asked him:

“Uncle, do you know the ragged old man who speaks English at that time when there is a full moon?”

He laughed and said:

“My dear, yes, that poor beggar had come to our town many years ago. We don’t know who he is or what his name is, but people call him ‘Maandhho.’ city ​​and there However, there is no benefit you seek because he does not talk to anyone but himself.”

I thanked him and headed towards the Portal. When I got there, a family of five was entering the village and in addition to the creek running nearby, I saw him sitting. I moved closer to him, but the closing distance didn’t distract him. He was muttering ‘Five, five more…yeah, five…sure!’ I sat some distance away because the fear hadn’t quite faded yet. I intended to strike up a conversation but couldn’t get a clue, how? So, after long hours of patience, I screamed out loud; ‘Listen, oh sky, because the water you long for flows under my feet’ That subtle attempt to provoke him, but he did not flinch like a large stone near me. Time passed and he could hear his own murmur continuously. I tried again and whispered loud enough that he could hear me; ‘Who will have me? O’Land O’Sky?’ Nothing happened as my whisper was absorbed by the mist in the air. I waited and I don’t know why. As the sun was about to run out of fuel, I felt a change in tone and murmur. Now he was saying; ‘Shut up, shut up!’ and waving his hands as if he were flying some birds. His tone turned serious and anguish filled his face. Then, after a moment or so, his murmuring ceased and so did his hands. The sun was about to go down and I left because I feared the arrival of the godo possessor of it.

I couldn’t sleep that night. He asked me why the old man responded to me on my first meeting and to whom or what was he saying ‘Hush, hush!’ The mystery was now deeply ingrained in me and I couldn’t find a clue! I, however, began to sit next to him and left when the sun got tired. However, after all my sessions, I noticed a peculiar thing about him. He counted the people who entered and left the town and when there were none, he counted the pebbles that he always had in his lap.

A week passed and then another, but for me, I was still at the same point of strangeness that I was at my first meeting. Although people had told me many things about him. Some said that he is a sorcerer and some called him a saint. Some considered him a wealthy businessman who suffered a great loss and some portrayed him as a true lover who was betrayed. But he knew that such speculations were just rumours. He had been patient enough and my time to leave was near, but I couldn’t help my wits.

One day I was sitting next to him and I noticed that he hadn’t murmured all day. He neither did he count people nor did he have pebbles in his lap. It was a strange silence in itself. As the sun grew paler and weaker, I sensed in him a sign of fear, and he moved his lips wordlessly. I had to leave after two days, so I took the plunge and decided to stay a few more moments. When the sun finally set, his words began to be audible and I could hear him say; ‘Come, I don’t hate you, at least’

The moon came out on her night shift and the sun was finally relieved. The old man in rags and entered the city as a Victorian. He headed to the same place where I first found him. I followed him. After a long time, he raised his voice and prophetically said:

“Come home, oh dove of pain. Drink from my waters of ecstasy. Oh eagle of misery, full of the wine of consciousness, feed on my flesh. Come here, come here that your hunger may reawaken.”

He sat down gracefully on a nearby rock. The fear of my first night reignited, but my curious longing managed to give me a boost of courage to stand my ground and listen to him say some more. However, it was prophetic. She never looked at me the entire time. But only in one moment, when the moon was full, did her gaze hit me like a storm, but she froze in a cool breeze soon enough for me to hold my ground. And then they took him away again as if he saw nothing but a pile of clay.

That night, I stayed there for many long hours as the old man kept pacing back and forth, speaking in a low tone. What I could understand was little but now I remember that he said:

“I’m cursed, why don’t you let go of me? Oh my thought, oh my love, why do I let you in, why do I let you in!”