Spirits By The River

A Spring morning to begin with.
Gone we to work, though a holiday;
Unrest robbed the peace off the red;
Thought we, to sit along the banks of the Ganges.
No reason so to, yet the soul wants to;
And off we went, to the beckon of it.

Times now were not good, worst yet to come;
Sat we, not for atonement, but redress the peace
Which we lost; and so very true.
The fog brought the horizon nearer;
Sat we, as the breeze caressed our soul,
With its soft touch, which lay in;
The immortal voice; the spirits by the river.

Some used oars; some the noisy ones;
And some….yet none with sails.
They went across the river.
Slowly and steadily passed they in horizon;
Before leaving waved us as we waved;
Thousands unknown, yet were so known.

Therein a spirit surrounded us.
Closed eyes did we; opened our minds.
Closed ears did we; yet hummed a music.
Enchanted did we find the desired peace.
It spoke; we spoke, a long long time.
A gush of wind did the pigeons blow.
Stopped, looked at us, and flew away,
Again came back; to and fro.
Enlightened our minds, mesmerized the immortal self.
Not they were to blame but thank,
Peace restored; we owe it; the spirits by the river.