The Keeper of Tides

By F Lalthanliana ( t.f. )

In a land where rivers touched the sky,

the Keeper of Tides roams, asking why.

Once a sailor, tied to waves and shore,

he drifts now, searching for something more.

With worn maps and a gaze turned low,

he traces paths he used to go.

Each scar a story, each step a test,

of what was lost and what remains.

He hums to stones beneath his feet,

where earth and water softly meet,

a question whispered to the night:

“What makes the dark and sorrow light?”

On the hill, a figure waits alone,

a shadow carved from breath and bone,

its voice a murmur, low and wise:

“Tell me, Keeper, what do you prize?”

He laughs, though quiet fills his heart,

a worn-out strength, a fractured part,

for he’s learned that each wound has its say,

and every bruise lights up the way.

“Purpose is a fire you tend,”

he says, as rivers twist and bend,

“it’s neither soft nor always kind,

but keeps you whole when left behind.”

So, he walks with purpose bound in thread,

a weight that pulls but keeps him led,

where rivers meet stars and waters blend,

and suffering turns to light, his friend.

By F Lalthanliana ( t.f. )