Boju Boju

Hiding in shadows

Playing the game of ghouls

Besting even air

Seek I to pluck muse

When nothing but naught avails

In emptiness, my ears prick

Picking silence, the souvenir of nothingness

In the chill, the will of Wind is found

In glare, the argument of Light emphasized

Unchecked, Fire is a drunkard

Set to purpose, Water; a deaf soldier

The Mountains seem indifferent?

Understand, they have seen it all

Now that muse is found

And silence subdued

Does the voice reading this in your head ask;

“is this why we are here?”