Woods Poem by Mahathi Mydavolu

He's walking through the woods, where road eludes;
with eyes on distant dim glimmer of Moon.
The Moon, a struggling crescent of half moods,
helpless, with a quarter of His glitter hewn..

He's not to care...be there some light or less
or none. He's his own aid; stronger alone!
His face a mold of steel with nothingness
and eyes emblazoned wicks of cosmic tone.

The one who faltered on the bright and broad
cement boulevards now sashays with ease
on stabbing thickets like a drunken bard,
with striding muse, to cross the worldly crease.

He continued his walk from lights of strife
through mystic shades to win eternal life.