Indian Poem
As I waited the first cold morning of
the year awoke, streams of sunlight
came over the ridge;
so it began again, and as we cling to
our entities and hold on to our life, we
must surely hear the unsaid;
spoken by a saddest of hearts: we are
mere mortals, new days will arise and
fall long after we have gone;
and from my old school’s window
a child will see the blue mountain and
wish he could see its other side.