The moon-lit blossom

Narcissus bloomed … beside the tranquility of the lake in the shade of a cold stone . He sat with his instrument in hand , contemplating and playing . The waters rippled by and his touch rippled across his instrument creating muse. And then she came … softly near him and there she sat by the stone . He was but unaware of her presence , lost in the ripples of perfect symphony that he had conjured with his love , the instrument. Like a magician rapt in his own magic … he played and she listened. With her chin resting on her arms, she listened. It was so beautiful , the lude , that she had tears in her eyes. She sniffled . He stopped to look . He was annoyed . For who had dared to break his trance of love ? He looked up to see a face that seemed familiar. Lost eyes, long nose , tufts of long locks of black hair ruffled by the wind … not something he ever thought could be pretty . But nevertheless , it was . She spoke first, he joined. About music, philosophy, literature mythology and Narcissus was mystified by her words. They spoke for hours, days turned into nights , nights to dawn . They were rapt in discussion . Discussions led way into music sometimes , sometimes into quarrels where she ran home crying and he sat indignant falling back to his instrument . And then, amidst the long talks and music, it happened to him all over again. He was in love. In love with a pair of lost eyes and a tuft of ruffled straight black locks. One day he played to her…and then she knew . But she was scared . For she was a moon-child . Waxing, waning, cautious and intuitive . Nights of no-moon made her lonely,scared.But the full moon brought out the best in her, radiant, her face lit up and shone in the moon-light. She was the moon maiden and she was in love with Narcissuss. Then it began , like a thread of wool rolling itself off the yarn , their story spun . The story of the flower and the Moon maiden . Narcissus and Luna. There was sunshine and shadows . Sometimes the river bank rippled with their laughter, some nights the river belged and bulged as the sky fell down amidst thunder and rain for it would be no-moon day and Narcissus would be dark against the cold stone and Luna would be curled away on a dark bed far away from him. Both restless but separated. Both agonized but too hurt to re-concile. But after stormy nights , sun shone , birds chirped and Narcissus would find his way to his moon-love or Luna would slowly snuggle up to her Narcissus with apology in her eyes. Then they would make love. Their love was consuming … like fire when its freezing cold, like thunder and rain , like waves hitting a rocky beach . They would consume each other , atlast spent, basking in each others’ glory they would lay beside each other. They had their own saga. A saga of longing and laughter.A juxtaposition of peace and torment, of denial and agreement. But it was their tale . Their own . Made by parts of the moon and the white flower. But then came the low tide , Luna ebbed . She wanted to protect her Narcissus . His muse . So she thought it wise to fall back , to wait for the right time. Narcissus agreed . Luna hoped against hope , that we would not. That he would not give way.Give her away. That he would hold on to her, just like his instrument. But he let go . Hurt and sad Luna fell back, locked her up in a high dark tower of exile. Waiting. Narcissus picked up his instrument, sat at his old favouritte spot and wove golden threads of new music , but this time it had a bit of pain , a bit of longing, the music rippled across the still air as the river waters gently hit the banks . It has been a while now. Narcissus no longer sits in the shade of the old stone. For he is disturbed by Luna’s smiles that he remembers. The cold stone rests alone beside the river .The meadows are in waiting . The apple tree on the bank of the river stands in waiting. The birds whisper the saga of Narcissus and Luna and long to see them together again. The river waters eagerly rush to the bank to check if they are back. The sun plays hide and seek amidst the clouds peeping with the hope of lighting up Narcissus and Luna together . And last but not the least Time sighs as well as she ticks away in waiting. And some where far away locked up in an old tower a part of Luna wants to run into Narcissuss’ arms. And Far far away on the edge of a dark mountain, the symphony of light fingers can be heard, where, a part of Narcissus yearns to rip down the fortress of insecurity and inhibiton that Luna has build around her. And somewhere in some distant dream … two souls would meet beside a river under the shade of an apple tree, beside an old cold stone , smiling at each other as the sun lights up their faces . Perhaps it will be then that Narcissus would bask in Luna’s moonlight and bloom to his fullest . Perhaps it would be then that he would play his masterpiece. His musical rendition of Luna, and, as Luna would smile silently as she rests her head on his shoulders , the birds would return to their nest and peep down at them. The river would gently ripple and the apple tree would nod in consent as the light wind blew against it. Perhaps it would be then that they might celebrate their love … may be ,then , that instant, it would be their home coming . Perhaps then … not yet . For now, we whisper in silent hope and … we wait.