The Feet at Her Thin Threshold

The Feet at Her Thin Threshold 

Beautiful place harbors beautiful people; or perhaps the land lies in their hearts, as seed of peace blooms the moon in their smile... "Welcome to the land of love" , the wind chants breaking at the bulk of stones and trees only to make that resounding echo. It seems so unreal: the well structured land with its green blazing. Where violence, hate, crimes are unheard of. And the radiant faces keep the night from coming. So unreal but yet exist. 

Don't ask me where, when we dine and sleep atop it ruins. Our feet hardly buckle but instead transfers the remnant guilt to the earth core. How much can the core take?

And don't ask me when, because no one can enter a contract with time. Time absorbs the Present everytime the clock tick, every time you close your eyes when you're blinking. It absorbs the Present and turns it to Past. Nobody can live in the past. 

We could take few tentative steps to ascertain the direction. Is it a Dreamland? Dreams are projected ideas, thoughts and memories taking a semi-substantial form  in our head, ne' our heart. They remain persistent for a while until they die. And what is life when hope is dead?

 "... Welcome to the land of love", the voice was now low-pitched, as if we were getting farther away from it. As if we were getting farther away from the Land of Love.