When it is the darkest all around, things that we need
The eyes can see, the heart can find the distant terrain.
Among the agreeing stars, the waxing moon and nights
I settled to count the drops, but the rain washed it again.
Often when I sit beside the window or seek an answer,
The fluttering wings rhyme with enough wind to breed
A zillion zest, an untiring wish to hold the pigeon and ask.
What letter can it fly with, which lands will it visit again?
I asked the pigeon, will it fly to my love and pass my wish,
It said, its late enough to go there, that heart doesn’t beat.
I pleaded, if it can go to my childhood and get those toys,
It said, time has made me bigger a toy that God plays with.
I urged, if it can kiss my mother’s hand and tell her more,
How much I love her, it said the mother always lives in us.
I cried like a child, if I can get to see the butterflies again,
It said, the wings of life have more colour to paint the sky.
No answers? like this world for my seeking soul and sense?
No comfort to my anguish, no loving hands to touch upon?
The pigeon smiled and looked into my eyes as if will melt
My soul and the years gone by with a whisper into my ears.
It said, “I am not here to listen to your voice nor to tell,
But to see, how you rise, how you fall and yet rise again”.
Now I know, when I would sleep, the pigeon will fly home,
And before I wake up it will have more dreams to believe.
The Soul's Whisper 