Wind and Stone

I'd previously posted a poem I wrote a while ago called Ghosts. In this poem I compared writing poetry to being 'a spellcaster'. Part of me has always found something supernatural or magical about the creation process, and poetry - especially when it has rhythm and rhymes - can have the cadence of a spell being chanted. This poem came to me as an image when I was either falling asleep or waking up. Of course, this just fires my imagination as these 'in between' times are associated with magic and witchcraft in mythology.

Wind and Stone, which I just finished today, has nothing to do with either magic or witchcraft. Instead, it's one of the few times I've been able to work a concept from my Zen studies into a poem. That, and the fact it's the second poem I've written in less than a month, makes me happy.

Wind and Stone

Saharan winds
carry the scent of burning feathers,
promising rebirth
where the sand and sky blurs

Wary of mirages,
I built my oasis upon this crag of stone;
amid the sand and grit,
I need not crave nor atone

Decade after decade,
caravans cross the landscape
like dunes seduced by the wind,
forsaking permanence and shape

Sun burnt and leather-cracked,
they exalt in an endless journey,
while I mistrust visions
which as mirages ever fly before me

Departing at dawn
they quicken their pace,
unaware that we are destined
to find ourselves in every place

- Peter Cholewinski