The Last Master of War

Not a true Choka...but uses a 5,7,7,5,7,7 format ------------------------------------------------- Chill, steaming vapour; Silence over pale water; Faded, thin wisps of ribboned Pink Above the east gate; I dip oars...and silence Breaks. Trace of flame in lilac sky. Raise, lean, dip and pull; Sculling forward little Twirls Swirl away from dripping Blades; Uplifted soul -- soaring! Remembering how, when young... Each new day would bring New hope. Extends the shoreline -- Sweeping inwards at the Point; Green bulrushes in the bay; A bittern booming:- Rising up like slow thunder Drifting out of jade mountains. My busied childhood, Hidden pate not yet shaven; Shrimping with a fine mesh Net; Loud, boyish laughter; Brimming jars crammed with Sunbeams -- The golden, darting minnows. Horizon widens, Shadow retreats from low Hills; Gathering orb comforts me; Selfsame warm comfort When held by sleepy women In cold grey of early dawn. The vaguest murmur, Faint as drowsy breathe, Of the soundings of dim chimes... A call to prayer? Hands hard-clenched on the Staid oars; Restrained by yesteryear.