A helpless dream
Of a faint morning
Slips out from the midnight’s womb
And rests on the fickle light
Of my bed-side lamp.
The tidings that the wind brings tonight
Are hollow and silent,
And yet the candle beside me
Flickers with their humming.
A song dies faraway in soft rhythm,
And silence begins its quest in this dark hour,
When all is wrapped in a cloaked uniformity.
Dust settles on a fallen feather,
The autumn leaves lie withered
on the banks of an ancient river.
And yet each being throbs its existence
On the moonlit shores of uncertainty.
The mist hangs in the air,
like some long lost remembrance.
Dawn takes birth,
in the wake
of the night’s deepest revelation.
A bud slowly
begins to bloom somewhere.
An immature grace.
A sweet innocence.
The magic of tenderness,
like a poet’s forgotten juvenilia.
And the rendition of a passing moment,
Becomes the bedrock my entire life.