Meditations in Saoghal

By: Minosha Posted on: May 14, 2009

A white crane idly stands atop a solitary leg;

His claim upon these waters rivals mine.

Too confident to leave is he, and yet too proud to beg.

Wading through the lake, I tease my line.

With practiced art his yellow beak impales a silver fish;

His calm assurance is a joy to see.

A voice heard through the universal membrane says, "I wish,"

And shatters my supposed tranquility.

Beneath the still reflections on the surface of the lake

The membrane disseminates a verbal slew:

A tangled knot of voices much too muddled to unmake

Within a cave of phosphorescent blue.

Incredulous, I stand within the cave too dazed to think.

As up above, the Saoghal Valley shines.

A voice heard through the membrane says, "Two red, one purple ink,"

My effort to be skeptical resigns.

The crane exists in blissful ignorance and nothing more,

As if his feathers never will be tasked

To fill a lady's pillow, or to sweep dust from the floor.

And I, in desperation, only ask:

May any place of silent sanctuary still be found?

I'd walk or fly, it matters not how far.

Somewhere to seek a refuge from these voices all around.

A voice beneath the lake says, "Duanathar."