The writing on the wall that
does not yet make sense
The trace of what could be,
this is what I carry
Between now or never I’m sitting
on a fence
*
It’s hard to believe it but
NOW may never come
The water does not pause; the
brook always flows,
As the relentless stream of
this Kali kingdom
All things might pass away
when its scorching wind blows
*
Too small to be carried by
the swift water’s stream
Some small pebbles lie low
in the bed of the brook
They watch all from below and
they silently dream
That a child will pass by,
that he shall kneel and look
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