Waterwheel

By: Tejas Ranade

2008

Two cranes, perpendicular, lay across – a cross! –

The face of our Father the Sun, beating down
Upon life, shifted against water and bark. They toss
Amid the breeze and sink into the blue of the sky –
Waiting for absolution of their tendons, around
The Oversoul that examines from above, the great scientist
Who does not but observe, gently spinning the beginning of time
And the crunching of days till the morrow not come.

The wizened man has known too far forward for joy
Or despair as his young eyes watch, never ceasing,
The turn of the waterwheel, chorus of spraying drops
Singing its melody of love and lost. He sighs, sees
As the wheel forms cracks, shatters, washed away in
The norm that seeks forever and comes together.

I tread amidst the life that befell upon the rock of destiny,
Waiting like the cranes, but with a concealed vein of light
Hidden in the expressionism of my being, for when Horus’
Horizon grows too close for sprinting, that is when the end
Of that which fosters plague shall arise, and bring under
With it hope that was never lost, but buried deep in time.