Open the door — walk free —ever wakefully !

It’s a wet green chill

As the dew witnesses a fragile season down the hill

Stamping the ground, a foggy mist spills,

And anchoring around its bend, and threading thro’ the glades,

A ghost of a slender tendril fill

Vanished in stasis, seething underneath, and thwarted by its will

That iron veined—time—stands still,

As if, weighing heavily upon all the goods and all the ills..

O Look!

There runs a river next to it —swiftly adrift,

With both the wind and the water swallowing all the mystic

It’s a classic earthy gift

In its feel, one must think of this:

Of HUMILITY springing,

Surely standing apart,

—that—the lot men shall see;

the sod of a soul,

buried right underneath that eternal sheath

Of that “oneness,” which it never bespeaks,

yet depicts ,

its that silence setting right beneath,

Out by the lake, slumbering, and wherever the rustling leaf rests, it sells all its pleasures and all its griefs;

Like its very own breath disowned,

To come alive in an earthen sleep —ever wakeful -awakened from such illusory make beliefs.

Therein, timelessness simply exists

That which must not be missed

Soon —felt and far echoing to be witnessed—deep —

© ✍️ Madhu Goteti February 11th, 2026 🦋 🦋 🦋