poem

The Winding paths have reached their end ,
Now am stuck on a one path destination
Perhaps I can be one of them
I am one of them, yet , by the sidelines I stand and spy .

Sometimes peace emanates from behind me
As though packaged in surprise boxes
And from a bird’s view I watch the norms
The common existence

Sometimes I have to look for silence and calm
Despite peace and calm being availed in every market
Perhaps needing to find my own, create my own.

The direct road is too open, I fear exposure
To things unwilled and things inevitable
And water being the core of every being
I find serenity along the river banks
Among the blue green weeds and tadpoles
Interpreting the phonetics of the birds in my mind.

Perhaps this is no imitation
Perhaps this is what has kept out of grasp.
Every time I reached to it, it pulled further
Perhaps I’ve found my home
My place . My burial ground


{Pics by Ciss, Melaka }