Voices in the Night

A poem I wrote over four years ago on a scrap of paper in the middle of a winter night. Free verse.

* * *

Walking through the ancient woods
I heard the minstrels sing
Songs of old; not of war glory,
But of little men and their little deeds.

The touching tales moved my soul,
Seeping through the layers of old
Draped around me in infamy;
Tales of wonder and joy, cherished sorrow.

In the silence of the woods
Rang the odes of praise
Of men who lived
In forgotten eras of the pat beyond.

On the fallen autumn leaves
Did I read the epic tales
Written by men of long ago
On the leaves of human history.

That they marvelled at the stars
And once reached for them, I heard;
And here the minstrels stopped
And the silence took over

In that silence did I hear
The voices of men long dead
Echoing through my mind
Louder than could my mind perceive

Thus did the woods teach me
The designs of the human soul
Residing in me for eternity
And told me tales to hold me forever.

KISHORE KUMAR