Rain clouds must have cleared in the night.
The day stands like a young god between
The oaks, cloaked in a sheet of fine mist
Demanding a hymn

           And I seek that old Rig Veda

Verse I used to sing with hundred other voices
In a distant school yard, sonorous Sanskrit raising:
“May we banish the dark shadows of ignorance
(and pain, its attendant twin) by lighting the wicks
Of our souls as we urge them into knowledge.”
                           Then I must have been

An indifferent student if not an insincere seeker
For I open journals again this morning to dribble
And splatter the pages with waxy words. Something
Is burning within me, only that I still don’t know
Who I am or what it is.