Ruins of Solitude
Ripples in the lake multiply
My hair dries out in the gentle breeze.
The leaves make music as
Sunlight filters from between.
There’s a beautiful word for it,
Komorebi.
And then there’s the singing of birds,
Which ones, I have no clue.
They are of different kinds,
Definitely more than two.
A bunch of loud boys,
In the distance I hear.
The man in the yellow
Kayak has returned
In his orange vest
And a blue helmet.
And someone is asking
If this is the right lake,
With their feet exactly
in the right place.
I unintentionally eavesdrop
on a conversation
About the toppling of
the State government,
and a possible President’s rule.
And I care little about that
But more about how
I can hear the wind no more.