the ripples of red sun
which drowned in a white lake
seeking to get close to its own reflection;
whispers of eastern winds
while wading through clumps of bamboo
deluding itself that rustling sound was its echo
when the silence was engulfed in an intrigue
to retain the cloak of subtlety or speak out
why did it chose to just whisper its disapproval
the banks of a river were worn out
did not matter how often the waves swept over them
but then one day that river swallowed the banks to become a lake