The Language of Silent Water

Water does not remember the stone that broke its surface. A ripple forms, widens, reaches the shore, and disappears. We, on the other hand, carry our grievances like heavy ballast in a small wooden skiff. I watched the mist rise from the water and realized how much unnecessary weight I have insisted on carrying. The boatman knows that you cannot carry everything across the crossing—some things must be left behind on the bank if you wish to reach the other side with dry feet and an unburdened heart.

Looking at ‘Young Dreams Along the Rail Tracks’ by Shahnaz Parvin, I felt that ancient calm settle in my chest. The composition holds a truth that cannot be argued with. What feeling does it stir within you?