I sit and wait,
On that hill top,
Importuning every gust of wind,
For an answer to that same question,
To sustain hope within.

Each day I sit and wait,
The ground shaped by my posterior.
Looking bluntly at that same wind,
Waiting to ask and to ask it again,
To ease my patient soul’s pain.

When will she come?
She who will ease my wait?
I sit and wait,
With that longing hope,
The same that has kept me alive.

She who walks with beauty and sagacity,
That from that insalubrious hill she will rescue me,
That she will calm my inquietude soul,
That she will that rebarbative question answer,
That she will that hope renew, make whole.

Copyright © Christian Eliab Ratnam 2007
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Christian Eliab Ratnam

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