Three Pebbles

This is a story of paths washed out

Tracing grained letters in sand;

Some of them whisper, some of them shout

While I snatch the pebble from the master’s hand.

Three pebbles: one for the darkness,

one for the ocean and one for the shattered beliefs.

One brother was a hunter, his aim was sharp and clear,

his mother tongue was torment and his voice was loud and queer.

The second one was tainted by the lies he had to tell,

he slept with one eye open, and yet, he slept so well.

The third one had a habit of mistaking good for bad,

he hid behind the curtain of a life he never had.

They saw their own reflection in everyone they met,

and stood their ground, relentlessly,  with no trace of regret.

This is a story of paths washed out

Tracing grained letters in sand;

Some of them whisper, some of them shout

a language I do not understand.

Three pebbles: one for the darkness,

one for the ocean and one for the shattered beliefs.