It was a pill to be swallowed
but it got stuck on my throat.
It was a fish out of the water,
the dancing wave is just behind her.
It was the cool wind that blossomed,
into a sinister moonsoon.
It was a season of love
when the odds were lovelier.
It was a curse at daybreak
when a prayer was chanted.
It was a giant hollow tree,
an ink-splattered letter,
it was the crisp of the catastrophe,
it was the countdown of what mattered.
I thought of this things lately,
when I'm in an airplane mode.
I swear I have gone to brighter places
already,
but I could only see the silver linings
on the dark road.
This is to say that I am now fine
even when I post notes about eclipses
and how an era is marked by
rituals done when daylight becomes
night,
do we pray? Do we play drums
and offer blood?
Do we wage a war?
Or chant a rhyme about our time?
Or do we wear sunglasses
and look directly at the sun,
finally able to see it like
face to face, for one last time?
YOU ARE READING
Live
PoetryOur hearts are brave as fire, minds gentle as earth, dreams are fluid as water, and our souls are as free as the wind. (Poetry and Prose) #2 of the end-live-begin trilogy.
