Moment

At the behest of Lord
Are the times drifting calmly like a sea-wood;
And, therefore, there is a way out from the God.
The invisible quests after the visible,
The immeasurable seeks for the syllable
Of the hymns chanted by the center of feelings,
From the morn to the darkening evenings.

In this quietude, the night takes forty winks
As the rivulets and brooks to the sea link.

He whispers His words
Through the nightly flying birds
To relinquish what’s bad and embrace God.
Copyright: Welkin Siskin