FLOATING, FLOATING
 
Our lives race feebly in all directions.
 
                        A frozen piece of land at the bottom of the earth…
 
            “I seem to hold in reserve something that makes for success
            and yet to see no worthy field for it
            and so there is this consciousness
            of a truly deep unrest.” 
                       
                        takes on significance
                        and plots our course.
 
Where does this unrest originate?                  
 
"Daddy, do you like my drawing?"
 
A gentle wind on the water.
Stars hanging down
in a solitary night.
The moon leaps on the great river.
 
Du Fu, what did your life resemble?
 
A sand gull
floating, floating
between earth and sky. 
 
Du Fu, now that we read you,
what did your life resemble?
 

This poem first appeared in The Bangalore Review, July 2017.