Bricks are a shade of crimson, as with all things , terracotta. But this road was yellow!Like the' road that went to the heaven'(apologies to Mr.G.K.Chesterton) this road was sprinkled liberally with the gold dust of good fortune. Or was it?
It had, in its hoary days of good fortune, had no doubt seen lot of activity. Caravans, chariots, mules, horses, leather shod feet, have all thundered past its pale visage. Like all things definite, it had a beginning and an end. It began at the city gates, and carried people, goods, animals, across the Roman Empire. On festive occasions, it would be festooned with flags fluttering at its side, as it led dignitaries, competitors, strange bloodthirsty beasts from conquered lands, gladiators, proudly all the way to the city gates.Its stone bricks would be examined for cracks and stones, dust and dung religiously swept off, water sprinkled from leather pouches , and what a spectacle it would be!Sigh!!
Now,it patiently waits for the crowd of insolent , gadget laden tourists to finish photographing the road and various dilapidated ruins that surround it. Flashes of blinding light trying to capture what was once the greatest pinnacle of the civilised world. Every crease, crack in the yellow sandstone telling a story of its own. Of metal wheels cutting in as they raced past, of wooden ones wearing the surface, as they slowly trundled, of running feet, of clattering hooves, of inexplicable , mysterious urgencies of life, of slow dragging of overladen mules, creaking under their load.
Like all things finite, the yellow road has lost its sharp beginning and finite end. It doesnot begin at the city gates anymore, for the city gates themselves have ceased to exist,long ago. A crumbled heap of sorry masonry stands mutely for all to see.
The Roman empire has ceased to exist, so the road leads no-where.
It exists as a strip of yellowing , cracked stone , a painful reminder of all things mortal, the small strip grimly holding against the vagaries of nature , a vestige of a glorious past.
The sun still sets in an explosion of orange-gold mirth, and the yellow road settles down to brood gloomily in the dark, as the last tourist leaves, alone in a ghost city of memories.
It had, in its hoary days of good fortune, had no doubt seen lot of activity. Caravans, chariots, mules, horses, leather shod feet, have all thundered past its pale visage. Like all things definite, it had a beginning and an end. It began at the city gates, and carried people, goods, animals, across the Roman Empire. On festive occasions, it would be festooned with flags fluttering at its side, as it led dignitaries, competitors, strange bloodthirsty beasts from conquered lands, gladiators, proudly all the way to the city gates.Its stone bricks would be examined for cracks and stones, dust and dung religiously swept off, water sprinkled from leather pouches , and what a spectacle it would be!Sigh!!
Now,it patiently waits for the crowd of insolent , gadget laden tourists to finish photographing the road and various dilapidated ruins that surround it. Flashes of blinding light trying to capture what was once the greatest pinnacle of the civilised world. Every crease, crack in the yellow sandstone telling a story of its own. Of metal wheels cutting in as they raced past, of wooden ones wearing the surface, as they slowly trundled, of running feet, of clattering hooves, of inexplicable , mysterious urgencies of life, of slow dragging of overladen mules, creaking under their load.
Like all things finite, the yellow road has lost its sharp beginning and finite end. It doesnot begin at the city gates anymore, for the city gates themselves have ceased to exist,long ago. A crumbled heap of sorry masonry stands mutely for all to see.
The Roman empire has ceased to exist, so the road leads no-where.
It exists as a strip of yellowing , cracked stone , a painful reminder of all things mortal, the small strip grimly holding against the vagaries of nature , a vestige of a glorious past.
The sun still sets in an explosion of orange-gold mirth, and the yellow road settles down to brood gloomily in the dark, as the last tourist leaves, alone in a ghost city of memories.
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