I.
A quiet world of his own
Who lives there?
No one knows –
Cloistered soul
Hidden dearly from prying eyes
And inquisitive minds.
II.
Is it a garden of infinite peace
A woody glen of calm?
Or is it a forest of flame
With fiery emotion
Tumultuous thoughts
And burning passion?
They say the eyes reflect the spirit
The windows of the soul –
But his are curtained
Gently veiled
His soul is all his own –
Untouched.
III.
Remote he is
Ascetic in youth
Young gravity marks his actions
Away from this maddening
Curious world
He lives in his own passions.
What touches him, then?
Ah, who can tell?
Is he touched, or is he cold?
In what secret dreams does he dwell?
Who will ask, who will be told?
Who will be told?
No one knows.
IV.
He moves around
In an aura of reserve
A silent figure
With nothing to say –
Or so he says.
V.
The sinner or the saint
Is he neither
Or is he both?
He says he does not know
But then
Knowledge runs deeper
Than words.
It runs deep to the eyes
Deep, deep –
He knows, yes, he knows.
He must know.
VI.
Let this day of his
Nativity
Mark a new life
A new year
A new beginning.
He must move on
To the call of his Destiny
To fulfil it
Or to return, unfulfilled.
VII.
Move on then
My Silent Friend
May your quest bring you
Happiness
Peace
True love.
Vanita Shukla Hork, 1985
If you liked this poem, you will enjoy my book Friends (Memories from another Lifetime). Available on Amazon, free on KindleUnlimited. Please do leave a review.
