The Wait

Someone has said, if you are on the road, you should walk; if you are at a crossroad, you should decide. This age defying road must have started as the dead brown grasses of the fields, stomped heavily by the ones keen to go some place but not finding a road, a shorter way. Those early stompers had played the other way: deciding on the road.

And they have left us the road, which is hardly a semblance of the one they had walked.

Once, at a crossroad, I could not decide where to head. I waited there looking at the people—coming and going, busy with things that hardly mattered, ignoring the words floating in the air. They walked on, pausing at times maybe to decide, to where they found attention. And just when I had figured out the crowd’s pattern of movement, I was yet again brought to another situation—whether to move in the glittering road of attention or the road I desire, narrow and small. I decided to wait.

I am still waiting, and I do not know why or for whom?