Riddle

P. Sudhakaran

No mountains hold us back,

no seas remain to sink into twilight.

We crossed the enchanted gate of the riddle
and found the land
where rainforests bloom.

Flowers everywhere,
a spring that never withers.
Golden butterflies fall upon the earth,
and swifts, guiding like stars,
lead wandering souls
through paths of darkness.

Between the words we speak
and the silences we share,
tales gather, waiting to be unravelled.

We nosedive
into our secret world of stillness,
like frozen crystal
hiding a sun.

Why should we set?
Time still unfolds between us,
unfurling like
a magic carpet of love.

The sun rests on a blade of grass:
its warmth never melting,
its light never spent…
like the touch
that returns again and again.

Why speak of endings?
Still there is earth and sky,
and in the vastness of the cosmos
the riddle rains upon us,

each drop a mystery,
each drop a secret touch.

And there we downpour,
falling together,
a rain that never ends.