Beneath Taranaki's Shadow Poem by Basim Alansari

Between rain and sunlight, 

this land keeps changing its mind.

The hills breathe mist into the morning, 

and the sky hangs low enough

to feel touched by thought itself.
…
The house rises from the earth

like something dreamed rather than built; 

round,
weathered,
patient, 

as though it has spent decades

learning the language of storms.

Its windows watch quietly

over the green sweep of grass

where every path curves softly,

never in a hurry to arrive anywhere.
…
There is something ancient here.

Not old in years alone,

but old in spirit.

Maybe the Moari tale lives;
of Mount Taranaki fleeing to this place,
after a battle with its neighbours,
carving on the solid stone,
an everliving river and evergreen domain.
…
There's calm in the shadow of this retired warrior
stillness that existed

before roads,
before names, 

before anyone decided
the world had to move so fast.
…
The clouds gather in great grey cathedrals, 

heavy with rain and memory.

Then suddenly,
impossibly,

light spills through the cracks; 

gold touching wet fields,

touching the backs of trees,

touching the horses standing silently
behind the hedge

as though they understand something

humans keep forgetting.
…
And maybe that is why places like this
unsettle the heart a little.

Because here,
surrounded by wind and distance,

you can hear your own life
more clearly.
…
The noise falls away.

The endless wanting softens.

The mind,
so used to racing ahead,

finally sits beside the soul
and listens.
…
Family voices drift through the air; 

small laughter from inside the house, 
the clink of cups, 

footsteps returning through damp grass.
…

One day these moments

will no longer exist except in memory, 
yet right now they are whole
and breathing, 

held gently beneath these moving skies.
…
This is the strange beauty of travel: 

not escape, 

but recognition.
A reminder that the world is vast enough

to hold both storms and peace

at the same time.
…

That happiness is rarely loud.

That love often looks like

people gathered far from home

sharing warmth
while rain moves across distant hills.
…
Tonight the clouds will close again.

The trees will bend with the wind.

The earth will darken into silence.

And still this place will remain

steady,
green,
listening, 

teaching
without speaking

how to belong to a moment

before it disappears.