A Tale of Footprints
I took a walk down the village path
And read the tales on its face.
The morning after a rainy night.
A thousand-tales told and retold
In the marks of those gone before.
Some full, some half trodden down
Some giantish, some dwarfish
Some clear, some blur, vanishing.
All equally lie, telling their tale
For who cares to read.
Tales of hope, tales of fear
Some of terrors and tragedies
And many unhurried paces of romance.
Long I stood reading the silent tales
As far as the eye could see
For many were the words on that path
Speaking in varied pitches of voice
Some speak in the center of the path;
And leave deep tales in the dust
Those are fast trodden under and lost.
Others speak gruffly on the edges
Brushings thorns and stubs and weeds
And hardly leave an impression
But the dying weeds tell their tale.
By their effort the path grows.
Many prints diverge
To the right and to the left
Still, many others converge onto it
And every print that came or went
Adds an account
To the tale of the path.
Though there be many prints
There is actually just one tale,
The tale of human endeavour
Of feet that came and went
And left their tale behind
Silent footprints on a path…
Waow John this is great!. My heart was move at the words. Indeed a path has a lot of untold stories. It's really a very nice piece. Bravo!
ReplyDeleteGlad to know my imperfect lines moved your heart Pauline. Thanks for the kind and encouraging words!
ReplyDeleteGood one. You have just drawn my attention to a particular one. I bet that one will definitely have many stories. Kudos John!
ReplyDeleteDid you write any tales upon that particular one yourself? (I'm wearing a mischievous smile now)
DeleteThis is the poem I like best of your recent ones. The message is clear and easy to understand and nevertheless the poem has philosophical depth and was written in an excellent poetic diction. With your permission I have uploaded it to the website of our Buluk journal.
ReplyDelete