THE NOMAD
Sauntering in this place in an anonymous morning
a perfume, a smell haunts.
The grey sky is turning into light,
the birds not stirring yet.
All so quiet in the arms of sleep, and yet I am awake.
Why question things when everything was an answer, everything a dream?
Before a glimpse can rise like this morning
on the hills before the light,
the sky changes, the flicker is gone.
The hardest lesson has begun
when the hand that guides
deliberately hides.
Confusion, light blurred,
nothing speaks.
When left to your device
you improvise.
Your own voice returns in the valley
and pierces the memory like a dart.
In the fading dark nothing is true.
The improvised shanty towns of temporary homes
of nomads, dismantle camps. Caravans move.
"Hurry up", the caravan says,
but the straggler does not listen.
The eyes still fixed on the hills,
the straggler is always the last to leave.
Sushama Karnik
Jul 2, 2015
Sauntering in this place in an anonymous morning
a perfume, a smell haunts.
The grey sky is turning into light,
the birds not stirring yet.
All so quiet in the arms of sleep, and yet I am awake.
Why question things when everything was an answer, everything a dream?
Before a glimpse can rise like this morning
on the hills before the light,
the sky changes, the flicker is gone.
The hardest lesson has begun
when the hand that guides
deliberately hides.
Confusion, light blurred,
nothing speaks.
When left to your device
you improvise.
Your own voice returns in the valley
and pierces the memory like a dart.
In the fading dark nothing is true.
The improvised shanty towns of temporary homes
of nomads, dismantle camps. Caravans move.
"Hurry up", the caravan says,
but the straggler does not listen.
The eyes still fixed on the hills,
the straggler is always the last to leave.
Sushama Karnik
Jul 2, 2015
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