Far Away

There is a place,
Far from the city.
The sky there is the widest.
Giant sky scrapers of the city,
Where thousands of busy people worked;
Looked like small Lego buildings from there.

A gravel road,
Just wide enough for one car to pass through it,
A road which also doubled as a bridge
Above a tunnel
Through which the wide expanse of a river flowed.
A river that flowed to the sea.

Wild flowers grew along the side of the road ...
Three ducks floated along
With the most peaceful expressions on their little faces.

At this place,
At that time,
There were heavy clouds above -
Somehow looking not as formidable as they could have.
The air was crisp and cool
The rain was coming in
From not so far away

At a distance,
An old man stood in a narrow boat,
With a long rowing stick
Was fishing,
He seemed just like the surroundings -
At peace.

A rickety old cycle passed by,
And the noise it made
Did not disturb the quiet that the place inspired ...
If anything, it added to the poetry of it all.

At that place,
On some bygone day,
I once sat .
In that quaint picture,
I once belonged.

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