There was something about her little niece,
That irked her from the start.
Was it her ever smiling face, or the lack of guile?
Was it the cheerful spirit or zest for life?
Was it a mother’s weak, selfish heart –
that could not stand up to her narcissistic daughter’s
wanton need for incessant attention?
Or was it because she constantly craved her daughter’s approval
that she found it necessary to ingratiate with the one she engendered.
No matter the reasons;
From time to time, her porous heart
Pulled out sheaves of memory,
That twisted her being like shards of glass
Some of them loathsome in its shame
Some of them woeful,
In its coldness and apathy.
The ages that have passed since,
Did not dissolve the wounds of her past
The memories of her sins still fresh in its agony,
The creatures of the hills took pity on her,
Nursed her fragile being back to health
Floral vines covered her naked skeleton
Thus, she bloomed in spring,
Turned green in summer, bare-brown in winter
The moon took pity on her –
Lent its milky white for her oblong face,
The solitary rose bush lent her the crimson lips
She refused to gaze upon the world
Covered her face in a shroud of grey cloud,
That stopped just above her vermilion,
Went up over her head,
Floated all the way to the ground.
She roamed the tiny world,
She stood at the valley’s bottom, dwarfed by immense hills;
Her haunts stifling her.
She began to ascend, the steep reed like hills
Risking life and limb,
All time was lost, as she scaled the slippery slopes –
Many moons waxed and
Many moons waned
Many seasons grew and
Many seasons withered.
She clambered the hills inexorably,
The affliction of her guilt,
Impelled her to climb higher and higher,
Till every strand of flesh withered away.
On a warm, sunny day, many years away
Under endless azure skies
Joy is a heart that can feels, freedom is unshackled mind.
Swirling flakes fall from above,
Dancing around stoic street lamps – giggling, teasing
As they fall, carpeting the earth.
Cotton tufts swell from below,
Gets caught in the headlight,
Makes a beeline to the windshield – melts away.
Dancing swirls multiply,
Fills the air, obscuring vision.
Moving pods slow down, blinks intermittently;
Howling winds gather the dancing dots
Slaps it unevenly on all creation,
Blanketing everything in white.
Welcome home, weary traveler
Lay down the heavy trappings,
Wash off the weariness
Ensconce in the warmth of your abode,
Stumbling over my loneliness
When all of you lit,
Countless candles for me
The wax has melted,
The light has faded,
Yet, the dying gleam
And the smoky fragrance lingers on,
Said shallow to deep,
‘How can you be generous when you have so little?’
Said deep to shallow,
‘I have enough. I am quite content.’
‘How can you be carefree when life is terrifying in its uncertainties?’
‘I go with the ebb and flow. I learn from experience.’
‘How can you be a smiling fool, when crushed by adversity?’
Replied deep to shallow,
‘You can live to be a thousand
Yet never experience anything the way I feel.
‘When I breathe, I feel the air
You don’t even realize that you breathe
‘You can never feel the wind’s caress or the sun’s warmth
Image by Shelly Paul Wind all over me – Beating my face, slapping my hands, Whistling in the […]