Vasudeva

The Ferryman 

At the edge of an equinox

balancing between

                night and day,

we hesitate.

The solstice of extremes,

                         calling

in the absence of light,

  moving

  towards

      a silence

unraveling

Suspended between

the measured

and the unknown,

we move

beyond fear,

towards the void

not cruel,

only indifferent.

an absence

without welcome

without resistance

without meaning

And still —

something pulls.

Through the atoms,

through the ache,

through the long, slow arc

of becoming,

unfolding

through matter.

Perhaps

that is why we tremble —

not from loss,

but from nearing

what we are

not yet ready

to become.

There is no call,

no sign, only

the still water,

and the quiet shape

of something waiting.

No fare asked—

only the fear

we pay

to cross

unseen