THE BARD

It was raining. Staring out of the hood of the cloak to the never ending copses of trees was not a good way of passing time. But there was something so hypnotizing, the sound of water hitting the leaves, the cries of toads, those critters who never shut up, the smell of the rain. But, it was cries of something mad, maybe the grieving sky; fury hitting the window panes with such a vengeance that left fear gripping your soul, rattling, sweating making you find your trusty flashlight and close your ears shut with your hands under the blankets believing that you don't exist. 

But he was mad, mad as a hatter or brave as a lion which I am still not sure, braving the rain climbing the rocks up to the castle that stood out of the rocks like a sore thumb. ''Amana'' he called out, more like shouted from where he stood. ''Standing out there and considering your life choices wouldn't make the rain any less harsh or magically transport you to the castle''. ''But you can never be so sure.'' I called out ,''I am still taking my chances''. He stood there staring at me exasperated. ''Even I don't want to be out here in the rain you know''. But I was tired, my legs was seconds away from giving out, wet like a drenched kitten, hair sticking to my face stubbornly, and no I was not questioning my life decisions. Debates over conversations, sleepless nights, scratched notes of equations, staring at the stone buildings and ancient trees that never made any sense, breathing and living libraries with spiralling stair cases that never ends, life was never more beautiful; living in your own dreams and trying to make sense out of it was a mad man's quest.

I am Amana. Mad maybe, but sane never; never in my life have I ever claimed to be sane. I understood that I was insane, insane in the sense not clinically insane, I saw the world around me in different colors, different thoughts, different emotions. And yes I am dreaming, living the Worlds that were never inked, creatures that were never seen out of my head, kingdoms that rose and fell, brave Kings, beautiful princesses, dragons, chivalrous knights, swords that bled, stormed castles that braved the weather to tell the tales of old, mages, magic, tears, blood, sacrifices, love and hate.

This is the tale, parchment never-ending, ink never drying, tale of victors and losers, tales of   the brave and cowardly, of love, of hate, of life. A tale of passion, written with bleeding steel and forged in fire, the song of The Bard.