Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 16
How strange it is—
A seeker never gets a glimpse of the swan.
But a reckless peasant sees them everywhere.

Once you stop moving aggressively and take cautious, calm steps,
You’ll begin to see their glimpses all around.

The question is:
How can a seeker turn himself back into a peasant?
Has love turned him into something else?

How strange it is—
In life, we keep running to achieve; to gain; to find; or to discover
Running in and Running out—
Only to lose our souls and the time — it runs out.
A swan unaware—
There was a seeker once who kept her as a reverie
To the grave.
Strange again yet a dearly held reverie.
Will the Seeker ever find his Swan?
Ami  Mathur
Written by
Ami Mathur  30/M/India
(30/M/India)   
29
     guy scutellaro
Please log in to view and add comments on poems