The Stage Poem by Siddharth Nair

Arcs of angry dust arose, as if awakened unceremoniously,
From every grotesque scar imprinted on the dunes,
By the rider's horse.
The rider rode on and on, probing the virgin trail,
Haunted by its mystique, intrigued by the silhouette,
Of a mute cactus in the moonlit night.

When the cross-roads came, he stopped, Knowing not which way to turn;
He looked at the gentle moon, And prayed to be shown soon The way,
Of which he had heard his comrades say.
Came along, then, another rider
Searching his way.

They talked over a square meal, Of things of common feel
The treacherous night had coalesced their views
And their thoughts mingled in unison.
The riders drifted on and on,
Till the next familiar cross-roads
Cryptic silence held sway, With a gentle nod each went his way.

And then, The dust settled again,
Covering the hoof-prints Setting stage for another rider
To loose his way.