The River of Time, Part III

IMG_0786
Pilgrims on the Ganges in Varanasi watching the evening prayer ceremony on Dev Diwali

I must have seen this river before,

Running its course since ages long gone;

Its banks, I sense, have many times watched

My different shapes and thoughts turn to naught;

/

How strange it is to stand on its banks

With a new face and memory lost,

Starting afresh while feeling as odd

As an old man in a little boy’s clothes;

/

I’m blessed to have such short memory:

To recall all would burden the mind

Too much for it to still soar when hope

Shines

Just out of reach, like the day’s first light!

/

Yet, if I see this river again,

I pray I may remember my selves –

All of them: men, and women, and ghosts,

So I could cease to hope, and instead, know

 

 

 

Find You

In the pause between regular breaths,

In the space between printed lines,

In the twilight of an everyday day,

On the border between black and white,

/

Is where you’ll find

Her

/

You can ask Her a million things,

But Her answer is always the same;

You can beg Her to fulfill your dreams

But next to Her they’ll seem void and pale;

/

You can plead that she show you the way,

Or that instead she let you roam free

But before you finish your prayer,

You’ll forget every word as you whisper Her name;

/

In the pause between ‘was’ and ‘will be’,

In the space between the Earth and the Sky,

In the twilight between Good and Bad

On the border between Them and I

/

Is where you’ll find

You

 

The Black Hole

I lost myself in your embrace

That with each passing day grows tighter;

My bones are breaking, my heart fails;

So close you hold me,

Your light burns like scorching heat;

It blinds me, and I see it as impenetrable darkness;

/

I am so tired of my fears,

I am exhausted by my weakness,

I hate it that I am so often sorry

And that I rarely know what I am seeing;

When you have crushed me into naught,

And thus accepted my surrender

/

The chaos that I am of thoughts of feelings

Will rest at last inside the deepest of black holes;

Then, only you and I will know

How in your arms I’d kicked, and begged and cursed

Mourning my self –

My only loss

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Fall is Here

The fall is here;

The wind has brought her

On his wings

Of golden leaves

/

And left her standing,

Cold and lonely,

At the door

Of summer;

/

The fall is here;

Her fingers out of clouds

Weave cobwebs

Of despair;

/

Was it by chance or not

That this unending year

Whom in her web she caught

Was me?

/

No, it was always

Meant to be

That a lonely fall

Would come for me,

/

Confused

Because my heart,

When it still beat,

Sounded and felt a little

/

Like her own when she

Stood, cold and lonely,

Knocking on the door

Of summer

The River of Time, Part II

I’ll leave a day before I have to

And will seem cold or even mean

When I hold out to you my hand to

Say good-bye; this time I will mean it;

/

From the museum you built around me

I cannot help but want to run:

I was born human, not an idol,

Frozen in place, forever young;

/

I will walk quicker than I need to,

I will go farther than I must,

And on the banks of a misty river

I’ll make of twigs a bony hut;

/

If on a dark night dies my bonfire,

My heart will set my flesh alight,

And smoke and fog will dance together,

And wood and bone will turn to dust;

/

You, who were me, the one who tried to

Protect from flames that born to burn,

To put on a pedestal a human, to keep

From leaving what was gone,

/

Don’t be afraid to live the moment

Of you and I becoming one

On the banks of a misty river

Under the early morning sun