The bleating sheep

the river flows placid
clattering over the pebbles
as cicadas tone down
their fervid cadences
and quieten for the night

on a tiny patch of farm
across the road
a sheep bleats into the night
I worry about it,
is it thirsty? is it hurt?

it strikes me as odd
that I worry about a sheep
while in parts of the world
people die of hunger
and children get robbed
of their souls
bit by bit day after day
by abuse

I keel over with helplessness
by the enormity of it all

“answer me, you answer me”
I beseech an unseen God
“surely there must be a reason”

‘you tell me’ he retorts right back
“why human beings are so intent
on hurting one another.
why do they lock up the love
that is their real nature
and embrace fear, you tell me”

I keel over in defeat
silenced into submission
by the stark truth of it

“maybe your creation is flawed
maybe you wired us all wrong”
I use a rallying point

“maybe you prefer to be blind
else why would you court darkness
when you are in reality
nothing but pure beings of light”

“so how do we begin to see?”

“stop thinking and just be
realise who you are really”

I am floored by the simplicity of it

The sheep has stopped bleating
the cicadas are quiet
a resplendent full moon
admires its shimmering image
on the singing rippling water