The softest murmurs of reeds
I can hear;
A weeping willow’s plaints
I can hear;
The all- signifying whisperings
Of a conspiring universe
I cannot hear
Even at dead of night;
Yet, I shall be all ears
Just the same ,
To pick up the faintest echoes
In my name,
As if it were all that mattered,
The seemingly ridiculous turned sublime.
New day
From the cocoon of slumber
we slowly emerge,
in warm daylight a new day
breaking through its shell,
a time of misty-eyed wonder,
and a fresh energy surge;
haze on the moors clearing away
for gorses to gleam, all seeming well;
the mundane world
in sharp shafts of reality
starkly outlined,
while duty calls ; and stomach
appeased, things of the nitty-gritty
kind need doing, out of necessity,
but bread alone the inner lack
never makes up, so it is the time
to fill the void, in contemplation,
spirit at peace
finding fulfilment ,sublime,
the hill yonder a haven
for homeless minds to call home.
©Jeewan Ramlugun
4 June 2023.
