<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Sky was a curvature of serenity,<\/p>\n
Hills stood a pinnacle of ethereal question marks,<\/p>\n
Trees shamed you in their pregnant silences,<\/p>\n
Roads had no destination.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
People reacted with instinctual simplicity,<\/p>\n
Sighs and pains were a gift of god,<\/p>\n
Not to be manipulated,<\/p>\n
But accepted with grace and poetry.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
When was it that I went last to my village,<\/p>\n
That oasis of calm and frivolous passion,<\/p>\n
An island of unasked for freedom,<\/p>\n
A sustained awake-dreaminess.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I live in a city now, a cloister of inhibitions,<\/p>\n
A grill for instincts and intuitions,<\/p>\n
An effete existence,<\/p>\n
Adulterated nature.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I have nothing left,<\/p>\n
But the world\u2019s soulless concerns,<\/p>\n
Yet the echo of the distant thunder,<\/p>\n
Sometimes lifts the dark halo – momentarily.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Suffern, New York, September 29, 2017<\/p>\n