A Quiet wander
A Quiet Wander
The river spoke in ways I couldn’t own
It moved in quiet circles through the night
A kind of voice I felt but hadn’t known.
The moon leaned in and gave it bits of beams
Spreading something soft across the air
Till even shadows shifted, faint but bright light gleams.
I walked along as if the dark might glare,
As if the silence held a kind thought,
Or knew how things could take and then care.
The wind came up—not harsh, but close and dry,
And brushed against my chest with no haste,
Like it had heard each and every question passing by.
Each step I took felt like a grave test,
Of whether I should chase or just stay,
Or finally give the searching mind peace and rest.
A canopy stood out ahead across the way,
Its arc cut clean against the deeper shade,
A line between what’s bright and what is gray.
I stopped just short, unsure of where is my heart,
And heard the river changes its silent mone,
As if it saw straight through me, quickly finds my art.
No voice, and still it felt like something groan,
That leaving things behind is never lean,
And no one ever walks where wind is blown.
I crossed, though I was not sure what I have seen,
And felt something is hidden in its glow,
Like losing something what I’d cherish always in this din.
The river’s voice felt different now—more languid,
A quieter truth under the open high,
That what we seek is something we can handed.
So on we move, not knowing how we will try,
We lose, we find, we drift, we come back alone
The past behind, the open road is wet and dry.
And every restless soul will adept to lone.
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