I welcome new days
That hold the promise of sunrays,
For I love the warmth of them
Kissing my skin;
And when the sun has set,
I hope for a reset
To still my mind,
And give in to the quiet
Of the silent night,
That settles in gently;
The sunrays now, a distant memory,
Their warmth, no longer alluring.
The saga of my trysts
With sun and moon,
Shall play on repeat
For as long as I live.
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I stand back
To view the canvas,
A veritable plethora
Of resplendent colours;
Every imaginable hue,
Shades of red, yellow, green and blue,
Splattered across.
Yet despite the obvious chaos,
I see order –
I see the beauty
That the artist’s brushstrokes
Convey to me.
But try as I might,
I cannot determine,
The colour of the backdrop,
Whether black, or white –
It could have been
Either of these,
Or something in between;
It is totally lost
Behind the delightful host
Of brilliant hues.
I realize,
That this canvas
Is much like life,
Whether it began with a spark,
Or entrenched in blues,
What it turns out to be,
A dull grey or a verdant green,
Is up to you and me.
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I remember the time
When my younger self,
All of four or five,
Would watch in fascination,
The eternal dance
Of a battalion
Of miniscule warriors –
Dust particles,
As they traipsed along
The glorious sunbeam,
To the rhythm of a song
I couldn’t hear.
It has been
A long time since then,
And I do not often
Think back to those days,
When I watched the mites,
Dancing along the sunrays
Shining in,
But when I do,
I almost always,
Allow myself
The pleasure of a smile,
As I bask in the warmth,
Of a memory stolen
From the annals of time.
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Look for the stories
That breathe fire
Into your listless soul,
Look for the stories
That inspire,
The stories that send a thrill
Down that dark hole
Void of hope,
Which you haven’t
Been able to fill,
No matter how hard you try.
Give yourself a second chance,
Lay down the melancholy,
And choose to dance,
To retreat
And find your peace.
Shirk the shroud
Of ignominy,
Wipe the unbidden tears,
Quell the deepest fears;
Shed it all –
And instead,
Breathe life into a story
That’s different,
And full of glory,
One that’ll make you proud;
Write a story
Like only you can,
Know it is your right,
For this is your life.
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A bell goes off in the distance,
Sending a swarm of students,
Milling out of classrooms
Onto the playground;
Some gather around
To talk in a small group,
While others troop
To play some game,
All around, there’s fun and laughter
Or so you’d think;
But not if your eyes strayed
To the fringe,
Where the outliers stay
Close enough to each other
So as to not stand out,
And yet far apart
From everyone else,
Just as they’ve been from the onset.
They watch, and they smile
From time to time,
But mostly, they sigh –
A deep sigh of longing;
For these moments
That are meant to be enjoyed,
Seem ever so much like a burden
That weighs down
On their lonesome selves.
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All these nuggets
From the distant past
That come rushing in
Like shrapnel from a blast,
But at times
A gentler trickle
Seeping in through random crevices –
No matter though, their flow
They are fickle,
Or at least, the lighter
Of them are;
Although,
The intense ones,
That evoke emotions
Often hard to bear,
Tend to linger,
Like dark storm clouds
Pregnant with moisture,
Awaiting the right moment
To cave in,
And inundate
Your sense of control,
Over your fate.
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The flowers bloomed
In gay abandon
All together
‘Neath the sun and the moon,
Except the single stalk
That stood aloof,
When the wind blew,
And swept through
That vast expanse
Of floral mass,
They bent low
All together,
And though sideswept,
They withstood
The worst weather,
Except the single stalk
Which was felled forever,
Having had no support.
Image Credit: Photo by Miki Czetti on StockSnap
The path you are on
On your morning run,
Is as narrow
As much as it is strenuous –
And yet, you soldier on;
There are no fellow runners
For as far as you can see,
And the one or two you meet
Eventually,
Pause long enough
To greet,
All you have going for you
Is yourself,
You carry your own water,
Your shades and GPS,
You sing to still your fear
Of getting lost,
You sing so loud, you’re sure
Someone will hear
And sing along,
But no, there’s nothing,
Except for the birdsong.
You keep at it
For you’re so far in,
That you can only finish
What you’ve begun,
And so you run;
And somewhere along the way
You realize,
That you are having fun,
That there is joy
In being on your own,
With the birds and the trees
To keep your dreary soul company.
Image Credit: Photo by Sergei Gussev on StockSnap
If I had a daughter
We would play together,
Seeking fairies
In the wild bushes,
We would run
In a field of dandelions,
And build castles,
Lots of them –
On the beach, and in the air;
I would braid her hair,
And we’d eat all the candy floss,
At the annual fair.
If I had a daughter,
I would teach her,
To take what is hers
Without fear,
To speak up –
For herself and for those around,
To pick her battles,
And win them.
If I had a daughter,
I would teach her
To be bold,
And not do only what she’s told,
I’d teach her to just ignore
The naysayers,
The well wishers,
The worldly wise,
The young, the old,
And the religious folks –
All of whom
Would try to break her,
So they could mold
A young person
Into one, of their liking –
Docile and subservient.
If I had a daughter,
I would tell her
To give the vicious world
Her anger,
I would fuel her hunger
To grab her place,
Her rightful place –
At the table, the banquet hall or the space!
Wherever it is,
That she believes,
She will find peace,
And happiness, lots of it!
Image Credit: Photo by Candace McDaniel on StockSnap
The piece of your heart
That desires peace,
Is outweighed by others;
One burdened by hurt,
And another,
By deep, unspoken fears.
For mere desires,
Cannot douse
The fiery reality
Of roaring fires;
That rage within,
They can only be quelled,
When the throbbing
Is finally stilled.
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Chasing Sunshine 