The Sound of Silence(11)

Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
The boy’s words kept haunting, asking, and even questioning him.
“What is your favorite? Where does your True Heart lie?”
Where did his True Heart lie? Even the shepherd himself did not know the answer. Since long he had traveled across the land; he had met every person in every place; he had fathomed out their Hearts with all his efforts, whereas he never thought about such simple questions like what was his favorite.

And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
The shepherd was unlikely to be fascinated by any music. Yet it was not all cases, and sometimes he did be captivated by a couple of songs. Paradoxically, he dared not to listen to them for the second time, not to mention the third, the fourth, the many. He struggled to evade them, as to evade lethal ill.
In restless dreams I walk alone
Narrow streets of cobble stone
Different from others, the shepherd was able to discern subtle overtone underneath the music. Such overtone, as he described, was the sense of Grand Mystery. A mystic kept something attractive by knowing it but very little, while ones who dug it inside out only brought collapse of zeal. He was afraid of that consequence, the fatal boredom, of which countless people had died in distress.