I saw him, once.
A few times.
When my heart was weak, itself.
The stray dog from the village which I know so well.
I've seen him for years.
But I saw him differently.
I remember, it was in the bleak December, yet the Raven had flown already.
I think it was the dog that chased it away.
I saw him that day.
He stayed with me for a bit, as he came into my garden.
But soon he wondered off, seeming to leave to his own world.
He looked back at me before he left, but in that moment I knew that I wasn't going to see him for a while.
Not yet.
I knew I had to wait.
He would get distracted, forget about my garden and company.
But I knew he'd come back.
He had to.
And he did.
I spent nights wondering about where this dog had gone, and where it was going to.
I knew it had a mission, I could sense it, in its eyes.
But it was hard for him to reach it, and I knew why.
Maybe the dog didn't know why.
It couldn't cross roads, or speak for itself, or find a home for the night easily.
It couldn't be free, with these obstacles.
I forgot that he had them, I admit.
I guess I just wanted him to come back to my garden, not really thinking about what the dog would actually do.
The days lengthened out, although they must've felt like nothing to him.
The dog was so seemingly careless, so free.
But I knew that he could never be.
There's a difference between acting, and being happy.
I thought that the dog could truly be happy as mine.
My pet.
My dog.
Mine.
But he had once had an owner.
I believe that was his aim.
His old owner.
His old house.
His old life.
And I didn't want the dog to be unhappy.
I didn't want the dog to have to come to its second choice.
I willed him to come, of course.
But mainly for my entertainment.
I didn't think of him.
He wanted freedom, and I didn't want it for him.
He visited a few times.
Some longer, some very short.
But the length didn't bother me, it was just the fact that he came that mattered to me only.
But I have to let the dog go.
I have to realise that he wants his old owner, and doesn't want to stay in my garden.
I need to accept that.
I wish to see a gleeful grin on that cheeky mutt's face.
Now I want to see the light in him.
YOU ARE READING
A Different Voice
Poetry"Why is it that those who choose rightly and differently from others never feel like they have succeeded until others tell them that they have succeeded? And why is it that those who choose wrongly and the same to others never realise that they hav...
