The Brook Began When To See

Leaping, nay dancing, the brook moved ahead But blocking way stood there a dour desert. Gingerly it took a step, mighty dread, And found it fade in sandy sea of dirt. A few more and I’d disappear And it felt like a wingless bird, Poor thing, engulfed in mortal fear, And a voice from nearby it heard— It was very desert ready to hurt: It said: You know, wind can cross me well-nigh, You also can if you really assert, Look here, if you can’t flow, well, you can fly. Wind well can, but I cannot fly No matter how so hard I try, If it is so, then take a helping hand Of wind that would lift you from desert land, Oh what a silly thing to say! If not desert wind devours me. Yes, yes, but look at it another way Think, think, and then begin the point to see: This wind, let it absorb you, let it gain, Let go of your life as a brook, The clouds so formed shall soon be rain, Get born again a brook with a new look. Ah crossing dry desert as rain, Born-again brook flowed once again. ___________________________________ Musings |01.12.2020| Topic: water, brook, sea, river Poet’s Note: Is not death a new look at life?