Standing in the middle of
The road that divides wilderness
From necessity. With one foot
On each coast. Watching
The sky, deep purple and blue,
A dark tinge of green
In the horizon. The mountains
Balanced on the tip of a
Tuning fork, resonating the screams
Of a silent earth. On both sides
The thorns of Lantana growing in
Exuberance, languidly lashing
The tough skins so used to the forest.
In the sun, the paths to the river,
Covered with dried mud, the basement
Dry with months of meditation.
Crying for the loss that was a
Sea of green, the loss of faces that were
Innocent, wild, scared, timid.
Lucid pictures of perfect geometry
Carved on the rosy skin of
Rich brown earth.
Where are all these visions? all
I see is smoke rising from the
Foothills of a crowded park.
Where are all the hidden footprints?
All I see is tarmac turf and few
Drearily glittering jewels.
Where is the sun shining on the slopes
Of these ancient mounds of treasures abundant?
I wish for these dreams to vanish and
The clear blue water to wash over me in
A tide unstoppable. I wish for the light
Of the full moon to cleanse the mask
Of this blind, confused earth.
I wish to hear the sudden roar
Of the true king to wake the
Sleepless out of their dreams and
Make them cleanse their leavings.
I wish these dreams would come true!
--Mohan
