In tendrils of vine and trickling waters
Surrender of the mind to heartbeats inhuman.
Grasping for light’s strands
Produces empty hands
Spirit ever striving to find perch in the bitumen.
Frustrated mind in search of a harvest
Longing deeply for satiation from that bounty.
Fruits consumed through the eyes
And not of the mouth
Can only nourish through the haunt of a memory.
So memories we revel in constant
Regurgitating tastes that have long since passed.
Some of these memories
Are not even our own
As the wind whispers her secrets in skies overcast.
But memories do not thrive in spaces made of words,
They are colors and shapes, sounds and scents.
What turbulence rattles
The waters of our thoughts
Churning salt-spray and rusting our minds subtle laments?
The thunder of tide in a storm-front
Sharing echos with dew on the leaves
The contrast in nature
Shares a magic within
Offering constancy to our mind’s reprieve.
The voices we hear on the wind
Interpreted languages unknown
The birds sing their song
To the breeze on the leaves
Aching constantly within our bones.
How long we have been deaf to the sages
How much longer will we avert our eyes?
Still the secrets at dawn
Still the waters in song
Revealing its mysterious guise.