Friday, June 14, 2013

that obstinate headstrong life-force ...

 I wonder how I
constantly tread this hyphenated zone!
If I turn off the light the moths will die
and so will the bats if I turn it on.
Should I spend life searching for an anchor
or shouldn't I just tear off the sails
and let it be?

How good is living
on a handful of yesterday,
an existence
neither real, nor fantasy,
like the alluring horizon
between the Earth and the Sky,
at an arm’s length away,
but ever distant?

Why do I fill my book of poems
with haphazard listless things?
A mail box with drafts, remotes, phones,
a crossword page of an old newspaper,
five odd books, a gift that you had refused to take,
some songs that I listen to endlessly,
a few old snapshots;
all flung heedlessly, uncaring,
here and there;
Just about anything to fill the void
that once has been your side of the story.

YET
even now,
 between the breaths
lurks a stubborn dream
defying all other doubts;
A dream that often morphs into a bird
and take colourful wings
preparing itself for an ambitious flight
to soar higher and paint the sky.

And I throw away my existential despair
like a pair of old, worn out shoes
and I remember to plant a seed, all over again,
and wait for the moss green sapling
to raise its obstinate head!