The Land where He lived.

 

Sun never rose in the land of darkness where He lived. The land, deserted and wasted every day. There lived no one but He.

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When storm rages flowers die, leaves fall and trees uproot. It was one of those stormy nights when wrathful skies went harsh on entire valley.

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Among Henna trees, he waited for the downpour to stop. But It didn't. In the late hours of the night, he impatiently ventured home. A loud thunder shook him to his bones while the Henna trees showered leaves. They ended inside his shirt, tangled in hairs, stuck between his collar and many more were glued to his wet body.

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He ran, the muds under his feet resisted his pace until he crashed and rolled down the sloppy field. Many rocks and sharp twigs left deep marks on his skin. He ended in a river bank and before he could realize, he fainted.

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In his dream he saw sunrise. His feet, ingrained in the sand, touched the ocean waves. The sun changed position, played with the clouds. It hid and rose, once dark and then light; the clouds and the sun, they all ached his eyes. When the eyelids felt lighter, they split open.

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A hand whose finger tips were red and right at the center, was a round red mark surrounded by tiny red dots, it resembled the sun. The beautiful hand ran across his face, touched his lips and mingled with his hairs. Her long brown hair caressed his wounded body.

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And then, He felt the sun.

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🌿🌿☀️🌿🌿☀️🌿🌿☀️🌿🌿☀️🌿🌿