Chasing Sunshine

You go through life

Seeing the symbols

Strewn around,

Some carelessly,

Some thoughtfully –

From the morning dew,

To the fallen tree;

From every empty pew

To each fear powered melee;

Every symbol stands for something,

Each one, is a reckoning

Of how mankind

Has travelled through history

And etched its presence

In the annals of time;

Sometimes, in ways

That are not entirely pleasing,

Or indeed, harmonious,

With the rest of creation –

And it is then that you pause,

To reflect, and to think,

To consider whether you,

When leaving

This world behind,

Would leave something worthwhile

A symbol of hope,

To hold on to,

In the cesspool of decline.

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It has been too long

Since you came,

And occasionally,

It makes me wonder,

If you remember

What it feels like,

To call my name,

Your voice barely a whisper,

Across the moonbeam

That bears my dream,

Or watch me

As I sleep,

Often fitfully,

But no longer consumed

By your memories.

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Cold winds blowing in through an open window,
Newspapers strewn across the floor,
A coffee mug from a couple of days ago,
Loud music rushing in from the neighbour’s next door;
She surveys the scene with detachment,
Never once dwelling upon the chaos apparent,
‘Cause turmoil of another kind brews up a storm maelvolent
As her heart seethes in agony of a kind that only she knows…

P.S. Feeling a little lazy today, so I decided to reuse something I wrote in May 2010.

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How do you
Forget the pain,
And the unending shame
Of standing all alone?
One in a big crowd,
Nevertheless,
Singled out;
Nobody to reach out to,
Nobody to help you through,
When all around you
Is a sea of hate;
How do you forget?
And what even
Are you meant to reject
From that gory past?
When all along,
Right through till now,
That has been
Your life’s song –
Alone
An ode, to a lone soul
Relegated
To a bottomless hole.

Disclaimer: The title of this verse has been chosen to reflect the meaning of that phrase, which is “Lone Soul”; neither the title, nor the verse itself refer to the votive image in Catholicism.

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A long time ago

When I wasn’t quite five feet tall,

All I wanted

Was to write tales for all;

I hoped I would be

A teller of stories

Both ancient and mod;

That my stories would be

A harbinger of hope,

That I could be

Through each story,

A generous giver

Of abundant laughter

And much more

In the realms

Of all that brings

A glow

To the countenance.

Well, I hadn’t reckoned,

With destiny;

So the writing

Never quite took off,

In fact, along the way

It brought home

Some ignominy

And much heartache;

But what do the stories

The lay buried

Deep within my heart

Know anything,

About any of that?

All they care,

Is to burst forth

Like a thousand bats

Out of a dark cave

At nightfall,

Unleashing the rage,

The angst and the despair,

Of having been locked up

For so long,

Utterly forgotten;

But they are mangled,

And they’ve blended,

One into the other

And the other into some more;

So much so,

That they’ve metamorphed,

Into the dark and the gory

Of a mirthless horror story.

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At night,

It is not just the darkness

That settles down like dust

After a sandstorm,

But also, the silence.

You spend the day

Waiting for it,

Yearning for the embrace

Of these gemini,

And it’s not just your eyes

That you crave to close

But also your mind

Which has been spinning

Its thousand wheels.

But whether you get

What you seek

Is like the toss of a coin

Sheer luck;

Or maybe,

It is your destiny.

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Somewhere along the way

On your sojourn,

You take a wrong turn

And end up

At the edge of a canyon;

And what if this happens,

Really early on?

Where do you go next?

You are perplexed,

An unseasoned traveller,

And your footprints are lost

To time,

And the elements of nature.

There is no option thus,

To retrace your steps;

And going forward,

Is as perilous,

As much as it is pointless;

For it is nothing but

A descent

Into the depths,

That you know

Will eventually consume you.

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The dew drop on the lush grass

Was one among many

To shine in the garden

In the wee hours of the mornin’;

The dew drop on the lush grass

Was lost within moments

Forever;

And yet, for the short time

That it was there,

The dew drop on the lush grass

Did matter.

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In this moment

There is peace,

And a deep sense of belonging,

Of oneness, with the surrounding.

In this moment

There is hope,

Where there was none,

In the one

Before.

This moment,

As fleeting as it is,

Holds within it

A wealth of possibilities;

This moment,

Is one to seize.

This moment,

Is like no other

Before it, or after;

This moment

Is unique,

So live in this moment

Freely and fully,

As befits

Every moment.

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The new year –

A rite of passage

For a unique planet,

When its highest species

Pause to celebrate;

With some choosing to party

While others reflect,

And most take the time

To recalibrate –

To find something

That they’d love to fix.

And thus, with a new year

Are born,

Millions of resolutions,

Some airy, some not;

For each that remains unfulfilled,

There’s one that keeps its owner

Going on,

Just like the earth

On its relentless sojourn

Around the sun.

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