The pathfinder

There he sat, in the maze of his own thoughts, through the window, he gazed at the horizon that journeyed away into the hazy blue sky. Thoughts danced around his intoxicated mind, that, at that moment, he could see images his thoughts painted.

The thoughts  that blazed through his mind, the past, present and the future that keeps dribbling away to the end, the time that will never be recovered again, the choices of the past, that led to the present, the life mistakes and the brazen reality that stared out there through the window. The man he had become, was it the man he had dreamt? Or just a shadow of the man?

There, were he hid from prowling eyes, with music balming his troubled mind, his thoughts rang like chimes of a convent bell in his head, and told tales of a man and his demons, it showed  this soul with the good, the bad and ugly intertwined, it reminded him of a shadow that will fade away someday, that in this journey of a lifetime, that in this days of silent solitude, none could understand the path of this pathfinder.

 

In an altitude, 400 metres above the ground, he wondered and pondered about this soul buried in the sheaths of his body, about the life he lived and the reality he craved, the tumultuous reality that never seems to breed troubles, the bad habits that became the change, the life of a sinner and his silent prayers, about the life he dreamt and the dream he had lived, the journey of a soldier and his hidden fears, the expectations of a child and the reality of a man.

In the quite aboard, where he sat, buried  in the debris of his own past, he thought about the good boy he once was, did it really pay playing by the book? Did it really pay being a good child he once was, who is good? who is bad? Did they really believe all those beautiful lies?

He thought about the story of a boy that journeyed into a man, the wars he had fought, some he had won while others he had lost, but each had left a scar on his heart, that Sleepless,  his nights became, joyless, the streets made him become, that even though he still laughed out loud, even when most terms and conditions had been applied, there was a fire in his heart that raged unending, there was a glory to his story that remained untold, there was a demon that still needed to be slayed, there was a prayer that escaped his lips in the darkness when all eyes close for the day, there was a tale that was never known, there was a shadow that still clung to him and free it yearned to be, free like a bird.

Three things he had learnt in his days.

That no one can understand a path like a pathfinder.

That no one can wear a shoe, like its owner.

That in this race of life, only the strong survive.

 

There, the sojourner sat, squinting his eyes, trying to stay in focus to the plethora of questions that hunted his nights, that if his life was a movie, how would it play?

Who will laugh the best?

Who will laugh at the end?