Stones, Carved

Little stones carved with My thoughts ,
that pen moving so easily    
  What did it say then      
what will it say now        

I need to be gone and think of where I will end      
Those burning ghats of yore      
smoke from the pure rising in the morning sun,      
Just as when daybreak heralded My entry,
so will those climes and times hark the end        

yet what of the times in between      
those tall trees called flame of the forest
as the flowers from afar
make the forest look afire        
did any rush to put that out      

 I wonder
and yet
when One/one is afire      
so many dampen the ideas and quell the desires      
is control
always a good thing  
Maybe sometimes W/we need to lose
all control    
revert to what We once were    
primal and primeval
              and Then will the lives soar again