You are calling me. Incessantly, beating wildly in my ears, haunting me, following me, no matter where I go.
Your words echo in my heart, weaving glistening spirals, drawing endless paths through deep forests. Your tales come alive in my every dream, your voice sings in my head, charming and bewitching me, no matter where I go.
The land of my fathers, the land I once knew, is hidden in the mists of time. It lies beyond the haze of yesterdays, the ages that have come and gone. The place I once loved is no longer mine, yet I remember it still – the castle on the hill, the swift river of silver and white, running its course below the castle walls.
I remember everything, yet it is no longer mine. The man, taller than many, dressed in greens and gold, his hair auburn as the young fall, his eyes – the multitude of forest greens. His voice, soft and quiet, yet at times- harsh and thunderous. His hands,caressing the silver harp, his fingers long and strong.
The life unknown, the life gone, the life unreachable- that once was mine. I remember it all, as well as I remember the names. The name of the land my heart still aches for, and the name of the man, who is now a legend.
That is all I have left now. The names and feelings. Places and faces. Cynefin and hiraeth. Cymru. Taliesin. Aneurin.
The story now lost.
Till the hiraeth runs dry.