Words are like waves.
A word is, in fact, the content of a wave.
Each wave is seeped, and content, in its content.
The moment a thought arises, it begins to flow as a wave, until it merges into eternity. Where the destination is none other than the point of origin but which is transformed solely for the memory of the journey of the wave.
I am a mere witness, of the countless waves that flow by, frozen in awe, on the bank of the aab,
atop a mound of fleeting sand.
But, I have only seen my words drown – I can’t explain why –
perhaps were they burdensome – empty?
Wahu! A moment when a wave was born, a wave that then rode atop the waves that flow on from times – the witnesses – before. My eyes follow it, my being filled with joy inexpressible – so infinite!
Infinite? Then, melancholy set in as the wave was lost to the horizon.
I am only a moment – a mere fleeting moment but have found (my) arth – the meaning of being.
That I flow on in the intent of the word that rode aloft – as if in prayer – as if in hope.