The Shades of Change

Leaves,
bestowing a deep veil,
yet giving light a way
to pass through somewhat,
and become tender as them, 
to the eye that catches the glare.

The conjoint effort has left
a couple spaces for light to fall,
to one’s notice when out on a stroll, 
or walking back home from work
in a moment of odd luck,
out of those that succinctly pass,
as do days with age,
as fables rot and decay, and a reflection 
once bright, begins to fade away.

It was suddenly evermore clear:
this one chance at life that came to be 
in the August-yield, in the backyard 
of a poor farmer’s labour’s home,
after 37 years of blight 
away from home,
past a mountain, and a couple more
that no one man could ever climb,
for the winds, and the lands carried grief
that no man could describe:
one could feel it as a knot in the chest
that went up into the arms
and put them to rest;
breathing soon came to halt, 
and the last tears that would come
soon left the eyes.

There was no one around: 
no one to praise the work of a full day, 
or condemn hours that were swept away,
or wipe tears that never left the eyes, 
or spare me from the domestic tasks for a while.
There was no one left:
some went on a stroll
and lost their way, 
some were kept under veils 
of hesitation, and shame, 
some grew old in age,
and couldn’t remember well, or properly talk, 
or endow command, 
or function in accordance to god,
of which there was none,
as the hedon hid in faith’s facade, 
and dismembered all that he stood for.

This state of affairs aggravated
long-settled monks that strayed away
from conflict, and furthered themselves from pain.
Yet all barriers break,
when a bead breaks off from a chain, 
and tumbles downhill, 
the same path that I came,
and is lost in the long reeds of grass

This I wish,
that a moment of odd luck never again comes,
and that I never doubt my disbelief in god,
and that all those I lost return to my home, 
and that I climb past the mountains up north,
and that I reach the lands of the crop sown 
37 years before my own,
and that nature has been kind to my abode,
and that everyday, there is still a lamp lit on the door
which prays for my arrival