#vss365 #taper Scorched by material existence, the weary traveller seeks a balm. He trudges, dragging his feet till the road tapers and he chances upon a riverside— the banks of the Yamuna. It is a night of the full autumn moon. The dark waters, sinuous in their glitter. He lays himself down on the cool sands his eyes droop like wilting day. The moon, taking pity, squeezes some silver, moistens it with the dew of Vrindavan flowers, and rests it on the pilgrim’s brow. He stirs— and hears maidens singing in the bowers, calling out to Krishna. Their song is full of ache, heavy with longing. It is the sweetest melody he has ever heard. He sits up. Looks at the moon squinting at him and implores: “Oh moon, lend me some white fire, show me the path. I need no balm. I need— this viraha, this longing, this ache. #writingcommunity #sharadpurnima #Yamuna