C

 This wood, these tall streaks of trees,

not the place I intended to go.

This hour of dawn,

the flock of birds sweeping across,

this silent weeping in the air of leaves

force me to stop and change the course.

Far away from the chosen goal

I stand bewitched'

Arrested, I cannot turn around.

Places like dreams, unforeseen,

are found when half-awake,

or half in sleep.

Some truths are found

on a mistaken road.

They ask you to spare a moment,

take a look at the place, the signs.

Swept in the wind, the fleeting signs.

Halt, pick up and save them.

Searched, found once long ago,

and then lost without a trace.

Beware,; you have found them back by serendipity.

Do not let them go again.

Sushama Karnik. 13 Feb. 22