Once.

Off he runs,away from them all.

Away from the rise,away from the fall.

Look away and he shall evade.

Oh!Paint it or it would fade!

Oh!Paint it or it would fade!

Back.Forth.

He drives along the countryside,
the fields are green,
the houses small,
but the vastness huge,
and a never-ending blue sky,
almost like a painting,
a beautiful place to look at,feel and be a part of,
as if this is where he belongs.

But he drives on.
And comes across a hilly town,
mist a meter above the ground,
and the lakes resemble sparkling crystals,
the trees protect the land with the arms of trees,
and the dew is permanent,
feels like a dream on a winter night,this place,
and a place hard to drive away from.

But he drives on.
And comes across a forest,
silent,untouched,holy,pure,
where the wind rustles the leaves,
like the waves of an ocean,
and the chirping birds at times,
feels like the symphony of silence,
a forest to feel the nature and the wonders and the beauty,
and how could anyone walk away from this serenity.

But he drives on.
And drives for miles and miles and more,
but its just the road,and the road around,
empty spaces prevail,
no green,blue or sparkle to view,
but the absence of any presence.

And he stops.

He feels sorry to have left the beauty behind,
but hopes he might find something perfect to stay,further if he drives,
and he stands deluded.
Nostalgia and Anticipation aren't too far from each other,
and it all depends,
on what we look at,
longer.

Oh the road goes back!
Oh the road goes forth!