The winds, they ask the boatman,
How much will he take to take them across,
The great river that flows through his land,
To the lands beyond these fields and this rain,
To the lands of neighbours and those who live far away.
To the cities and nations dying,
To deserts and forests sighing,
To shores where there is no laughter,
And through doors of people,
Who grieve and are crying.
The winds, they ask the boatman,
How he drowns out all the noise,
Of tragedy and all this pain,
And glides along the river,
When the universe and all life are for vain.
How he keeps faith inspite of this pollution
Of the minds that has permeated the mighty river,
How he sticks his oar in the filthy waters everyday,
To carry miserable people not wanting to return
To lives that make the deepest levels of hell shiver.
The winds, they all despair,
Each year for change they bring fresh air,
But all they find is destructiveness and doom,
And the pure monsoon clouds they bring
Only rain down blood in this living tomb.
Why bother anymore, why continue?
What use is air when no one wants to breathe?
What use is change if all you ever get is grief?
Corpses of little children decorating the streets,
The delicate glass houses of their dreams,
Shattered by their own screams.
The boatman just paddles,
Pushing his boat onwards to other shores,
He just smiles, thinking about his many chores,
What was it to him if miserable people died?
Why should it matter if everyday to himself he lied?
He could see his land wither and die,
He could see his love, his river, wash away the rot,
He wasn't deaf to the crying, not impervious to the fear,
And as much as he tried to pretend,
He knew this land, to him, was dear.
The boatman, he just felt the winds against his ears,
Whispering their admonishments, their helplessness, their misgivings,
And as reply he just sings the songs of hope,
The songs he used to hear his father sing,
Songs of the time when the river and the land did elope.
And in the song, the winds heard defiance,
A simple refusal against the destiny he had to cope,
The boatman would ferry people to their shores,
He would bring them to their destinations,
All the while hoping they brought hope.
The boatman sang louder, willing everyone to hear,
Willing them to rise up and join the chorus,
The land was paralysed, it had to be shaken out of it's trance,
He would do his hardest to deny the end,
No complaining and no acceptance.
The winds joined the boatman in one voice,
Singing the song of the land, of hope,
The storms would end, the sun would rise,
And until this endless night of despair came to an end,
They would persevere inspite of all the false dawns and cries.
