Poem- Seventh Sense
The clock, sitting amicably on the wall
The flock, sheltering their own from rainfall
The frog, calling to the skies, calling to all
The drop, descending from heaven without stall
The breeze, passing like waves in motion
The fire, kindled with hope, love and passion
The stones, humming with slight vibration
The rain, daggers on the fragile complexion
The clouds, belly swollen with newborn dew
The grass, blades dancing with no clue
The man, with tired bones carrying through
The woman, in the waiting, for something new
The sweat, salt bleak and sour bile
The sweet, reminiscent of the good goddess Nile
The bread, soft and baked on the furnace tile
The wine, wretch for the pure, gift for the vile
The earth, ground soaked with early rain
The ashes, remembrance of time and of pain
The field, with colorful blooms of every strain
The meal, prepared for us, but with no gain
The message, received by one eye, intuitive
The rot, gathered and cleansed, inquisitive
The spirit, to and fro running wild, fugitive
The wisdom, gifted only to few, contemplative
And the god, with his heavy light, a lake in my soul.