Drifting Toward the Unknown

Drifting Toward the Unknown

Not knowing the directions,  

Leaves that fly  

Are unaware  

Where they will fall  

And sink as dust…  

At the place they drop,  

Whether they feed  

A weed  

Or a sapling,  

Becoming soil is their fate…

Somewhere we are born,  

Somewhere we grow,  

Do we truly live there?  

Do we truly die there?  

Though we claim  

To possess six senses,  

In the wind called Time  

We too, like dried leaves,  

Do not know  

Where we will crumble  

And scatter as truth…

Shadows walking  

On unknown paths  

Do not know  

On which stone  

They will stumble…  

In the footprints we leave,  

It is either the hope  

Or the fear  

We ourselves planted  

That becomes  

The guiding light in the end…

Birds lost  

In the music of the wind  

Do not know  

In which sky  

Their night will rest…  

In the distance they fly,  

Memories etched  

Become either  

A burden  

Or wings—  

Ending the journey is destiny…

Drops drifting  

In the rush of a river  

Do not know  

On which shore  

They will arrive…  

The moments we gather—  

Only a few are truly ours;  

All else dissolves  

Into the hands  

Of the unknown Time…

Flowers that wither  

In changing seasons  

Do not hear  

In which soil  

They will bloom again…  

In the fading fragrance  

Life writes  

Tiny lines  

Or faint traces  

That stand as memory—  

That alone is completion…

Sakthi Sakthithasan