Upon this path, clear as the sun’s own flower,
I tread the lanes, through day and dusky hour.
Eyes wide, I wander, gaze cast left and right,
And oftentimes I glance back, at the sight
Of what lies there—each moment’s new reveal,
A marvel yet unseen, a truth I feel.
This constant birth of wonder, this delight,
Grants me the joy of childhood’s pure insight,
As if a babe, whose birth is just begun,
Aware that life’s first breath has truly come.

In every instant, I am newly born,
To greet the world, afresh with each new morn.
For in the world’s eternal novelty,
I find a source of ceaseless gaiety.

I trust the world as does a marigold,
For what I see is true, and pure, and bold.
But thoughts, they cloud, and burden weary eyes,
The world was not for musing, nor for sighs.
To think is to invite a subtle pain,
But gazing, we find solace, not disdain.

No grand philosophy do I possess,
But senses keen, to nature I confess.
Not for the knowing do I speak her name,
But for the love she grants, without acclaim.
For love, in truth, knows not the reasons why,
Nor understands the wherefore of its sigh.

Love is a child, innocent and pure,
And innocence, in thought, can scarce endure.

:: 08.08.2024 ::