Lady of Light – A Miracle to Witness

“Just like all the stories that were stuck in the past, this too has been a story from the past, but still a part of me.”

Preziosa Signora.

He has told her a thousand times that she was bound in the dark but she isn’t that. He has urged her to let the light unleash and break the chains that were hurtling her all over. She would just sit with a vacant smile which meant, “nothing’s true and nothing’s right, no just thing would happen to my life, and the plight is in sight, no one can save me from such a terrible fall.” He said it is not true, that is all false; she was mislead by the foxes of her thoughts, she was light and her hair would glow bright, like burning gold in the night. He said she’s of stars which are running through her veins and her pains are not forever and would cease the moment she gains her powers, she’d be like a flower, which wouldn’t wither and die off in fate’s vain.

She just would stare at him, with a self-pitying smile. She looks around and finds the dungeons that’re dark and deep into the crust of this cursed planet which has chained everyone on its surface and her inside the stomach, not letting her out and not killing her in, why, waiting for what, no answer came, which would soothe her mind off, or just give deathly shocks, which like an old grandpa’s would receive her relieved soul into the arms and console her frights and caress her tears, make her feel home; in another world which would not hang, which would not bound, in which no chains would try to seal fates.”

“Believe in me,” the boy has shook the fails shoulders of the dying woman, and the woman has then, fallen down with a thud and didn’t wake up till the next day’s noon. The next day’s noon, when her eyes were fine to see her sides, she was out in town, she was in mid-street alone, with a hefty crowd which has shrouded her above, taking her breath away, but letting her out without the chains which has bound till then. She sent for the boy and she told him right, “I do.” She fell down again, with her eyes closed out so tight and she wouldn’t open for the next five thousand years. Something of a miracle happens after that, which the human race hasn’t witnessed till then, and wouldn’t after that.


"As if the sky is in love with her,
As if winds wants to kiss,
The earth started loosing her,
The ground lost it's grip.
The skin's like a molten gold,
Started to shine, she, like a star.
"My god, she would burn,"
Gasped all those who then saw.
Fireflies flew off her frenzy face,
She seemed as if she's a born
Super-nova in our human race,
Illuminated, she has, the town.
The hair floating like a heavenly fire,
She hung in air-a-loose;
The eyes which were closed and sealed,
Were still sleeping in the moon.
The nails were burning as were her brows,
A grace was glowing and it kept on to grow,
Her frame was slowly transforming,
And in her veins, it seemed, as some lava flows.
People stood around went on to knees,
They let sacred chants out with full tears,
"The goddess, the cosmos, the universe," were the cries,
A glimpse of hers was for all they'd tried.
The Lady of Light was lifted up so high,
She was like a phoenix that would fly;
All the sky was lit and the town was in a burning hue,
Slowly as a star, she has swum across the sky.
The town has dispersed off,
Content with what they've seen.
A countless myths were woven,
Which will live till men live.
But there stood this one boy,
Staring at the star;
He has always known,
She's the Lady of the Light.
Struggling tears drew down,
He will never see her again;
He was left off, alone, behind,
But he had seen her shine all night."


{The way how the myths were born is the ever fascinating things for me. The culmination of cultures, traditions, politics, beliefs, and all the thousand things that come together to form a myth; to store a truth that great men of those times have perceived, and were kept in a metaphorical cylinder in the name of a story, so that only the worthy would open and learn what really was hidden in there is a highly sophisticated idea, which the modern writers are strolling to compose or replicate such again. When it is so, we are very narrowly sure how many of the myths are truth and how many are woven in the way we thing they should haven been? But one thing; great men, who now has become demi-gods and gods, have walked over this planet and they will walk again. Don’t you think so?}

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