A Meadow of Peace

Every morning we rise
From night's old story,
And on our feet make a landfall
To start the day
From a water-gated bank.

A bank flanked by twin rivers ---
Flowing in perpetual parallels.
One on a straight line,
Which seems bright and smooth
With a glossy, brimming blue,
But down at its end a floating dryland ---
Humored by quicksand.

The river flows with ripples like crystal blue,
Straight its course and free its flow,
Taunting onlookers for a swift swim;
Gentle it looks but a ferocious mudslide
Sweeping swimmers
Down the throat, of gluttonous quicksand.
An easy way, but its end, a daunting chaos.

But there's another river narrow and slow,
Winding through hills and by valleys,
Slithering through many twists and turns,
Like a snake of bronzy sheen,
Down to a meadow dotted in green pastures.

This river --- the narrow lane to peace
Found in it, the brave and the meek,
Oft in the move through stumbles and rubbles,
In the blasting rain and blistering sun,
Always swimming, tirelessly swimming,
Up a meadow reigns of peace.