Thursday, May 23, 2013


These paths on which only one man can tread
So brittle they break if more men step on them
Don’t know who tread them before me
Over centuries, generations, and lifetimes.
They wind, criss-cross, and snake
As spider webs across dusty earth and grass
They never fail to lead somewhere:
Holy place, school, hospital, rest home
Or, to some point of exquisite scenery
From where can be seen brilliant sunsets.
In forests they proclaim human habitation
Or, a nearby stream to quench thirst.
We are mere passers-by, walking
They remain there till the end of time, unchanged
Till men die, abandon, walk away, or immigrate

To a place where they can set up a new home.

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