Who Is There...? Poem by Robert Rittel

Restless night and disturbing dream,
makes me walk in this moonlight stream.
Wondrous mental activities nerving profound,
searching for release from this madness imaging sound.
Knocking at this bright moonlit door,
with folding hands and kneeling on stony cold floor.
I hear the sound of the owl nearby, adding to the atmosphere,
and I cry again, ‘Is there anybody out there'….?
All perplexed and still, no answer to my will,
desperately seeking my conscious fill.
A phantom host seems to be the only listener,
feeling like, a homeless space traveller.
Spreading my arms towards the sky in silent moonbeam,
sensing of being in some portal of luminous stream.
Beam me to a peace of mind, the ultimate blessing,
then the torture of my troubled mind becomes very distressing.
After a while of calming deep breath in serene still,
I felt in my heart some strangeness of fill.
‘Is this stillness answering my cry'? ,
while observing a singular tiny light, moving in that sky.
As suddenly some strange veil lifted itself by nature,
and I felt some release from my mental torture.
I sensed some echoing through the spectrum of light,
wondering if that star is the stimulation in hardly bright.
I remember a quote by a Sufi poet saying,
‘ The limitation of God, is in his name',
putting my moonbeam frenzy gesture into a gentle frame.
‘Whoever is out there, has no name! '.