Not In Vain (2008)

The cornerstone falls in each lame word
Spoken or pelted in silence. The center 
Cannot hold what the purview of reason
Has shunned long back. Here, when I walk
The lonely streets, among the tall redwoods,
A whiff of cold breeze skims by exposing the
Edifice of conscience that was so nobly buried
In the sands of novel tranquility of the wind. 
Now, the wind just blows by the sentient grave,
Not stopping, not yielding and not breathing.

Like a passerby who has left behind a million
Breaths to but reach a tangible oddment that
Was carefully masked beneath the surreal
Gossamer. Taking the long winding road 
after the day is done, adorned with scattered
Leaves and home-bound gulls, my feet stretch forth
Searching for the horizon of the wind and the sea.
Then it stops. Shivers and stops dead. For
The wind does not have a beginning and 
Nor the sea has an end. I take the next bend.

There I see a cemetery of the brave, in lines
Arranged and a fitting stone for every grave.
I wonder whether the wind and the sea will
Have deserved a place there; a watery grave with 
Stony winds sleeping- a conjugal pair. At last,
At last will they meet in wraps of eternal rest?
Finally living, past deliberate hurts hurled at
The sea in that excruciating test. The wind 
Will kiss it and the sea shall bathe the place,
Having conquered at last His sadistic jest.

Finally unified shall the earth live and breathe
While a sigh, a mourn would echo in relief.
Heard in every hamlet, every town, in every woods
And parish and mountainous ground. The sea and 
The wind singing their strain, overflowing vales and
Plains just the same, "We have waited, have waited,
But not in vain..."