A Looming Fog
I feel as if I'm on a boat,
floating on a narrow river,
driven between its banks
by an invisible strong current,
leading me to God knows where.
On either side tall upright poplars
stand on guard as if I might try to escape.
An early greenish hue tints all
and ahead of me I see
a cloudy thick fog.
I wonder who is watching there,
hidden in the thick haze.
I wonder why I am where I am.
Where has my memory gone?
Is anyone hiding behind the trees?
Maybe I have lost my bearings.
Why all these questions in my mind?
Or perhaps I’m dreaming.
Suddenly I notice ahead of me
a fork in the river.
Now I am in a checkmate of indecision
Especially since the river current stopped.
Where must I go?
Left or right?
Am I going north or south?
The fog is no help.
The aquatic crossroad confuses.
I know not which way to take.
Shall I let the river decide?
I must take the right at least,
but which is the right?
Take my bearings with my right hand?
I hear an inner voice:
"Wake up, take up the oars.
Life is what you make it,
stand on your two feet,
do what is right,
or enter into oblivion
into that looming fog."
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