THE SOWER OF THE SEEDS
When the light strengthened in his world
he found himself on the road.
The wilderness was the envelope that stored
all the answers he sought.
He never found them down in the garden.
Some hand, invisible, was always pruning and trimming them.
Walking alone, his canvas and paint tucked in the backpack,
he sought the rising sun, delirious sun, elusive God,
they were all gyrating colours, endless rivers in search
of the final sea. Images floated overhead like kites,
too brief was their life in his inward eye.
Each canvas spoke a different story of a prison,
and with each prison, a different search for a key
that would open the door. The moons clashed
and fought their shadows; the golden harvests were
laid to rest by storms. The wilderness was the only way.
That was the way to freedom, he thought; that, the way
to elusive dream. " I haven't made a single canvas that
would translate my vision of man," he would say,
and in despair close his eyes.
And one day he replaced the backpack
with a sack of seeds and started early at the start of the day
sowing the seeds of light and the early sun.
Never looking back at the journeying sun
never thinking about what he had sown
he walked his way into the night.
Sushama Karnik
Jan 12, 2019
he found himself on the road.
The wilderness was the envelope that stored
all the answers he sought.
He never found them down in the garden.
Some hand, invisible, was always pruning and trimming them.
Walking alone, his canvas and paint tucked in the backpack,
he sought the rising sun, delirious sun, elusive God,
they were all gyrating colours, endless rivers in search
of the final sea. Images floated overhead like kites,
too brief was their life in his inward eye.
Each canvas spoke a different story of a prison,
and with each prison, a different search for a key
that would open the door. The moons clashed
and fought their shadows; the golden harvests were
laid to rest by storms. The wilderness was the only way.
That was the way to freedom, he thought; that, the way
to elusive dream. " I haven't made a single canvas that
would translate my vision of man," he would say,
and in despair close his eyes.
And one day he replaced the backpack
with a sack of seeds and started early at the start of the day
sowing the seeds of light and the early sun.
Never looking back at the journeying sun
never thinking about what he had sown
he walked his way into the night.
Sushama Karnik
Jan 12, 2019
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