A First Step

It’s a moment in time, light, airy, fleeting
A blip in the cosmos, the everyday, tiring, burdensome cosmos
Thought is suspended, nothing has the power to intrude
Into the perfect minute, clean, white, silent.
I need more such minutes.


I see the moment up close
And I am stricken with a disease
It immobilizes me, shuts me up
To newer worlds I crave to enter
The paralysis grounds me and I cannot soar

The moment is gone, frittered away
With mindless repetitive TV and
Endless clicks of the mouse taking me away
To other people’s lives
And mine is suddenly one moment less.

I see the future up close
Empty moments and hours and days awaiting
My decisions, stories, journeys
All that was promised to them
And I can do nothing.

And the moment passes through my life like sand
Emptying it, hollowing it, frittering it away.

It’s a meander, I said, a running off-course,

a glimpse caught at the corner of my eye

that drew me in, beguiled me

into a slightly wide-eyed exploration

like a horse without its blinkers.

It’s a drier landscape, a wider one.

The stones on the path are different,

smoother, yet as tricky to negotiate.

There is an implacability to the domain

that seems impervious, un-reactive to a stranger,

like nothing can affect, move, shake it.

Yet who knows, whispers the wind.

There might be accommodation in the scenery,

a possibility of green.

The meander might turn a journey

and the stranger could yet turn native.

Who knows, whispers the wind.

The year waits to begin

Sputters, starts, stops again

The whole wide world stands

With open arms, welcoming, beckoning

The water cool, blue, smiling an invite

The hills await first-timer legs, quietly in anticipation

Empty notebooks, blank pages look for

Letters and inspiration

Strangers await an introduction, an open mind

But the year says, not yet.

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To figure heroes can have feet of clay

Soul mates can make a habit of crushing your soul

Friendship can mean nothing more

than a fear of loneliness

And all that is left deep within

is that kernel of shaming ordinary-ness.




You sit on the top of the mountain and cry

And hope the days will get better

The light will get stronger

The mind will empty out

And mellowness will spread through

That the tiger will turn benign

And it will be safe to let go of its tail.


Despair breeds words and deathless hope

Breeds dreams of contentment and quiet

Of stilling the restless clamour in the head

Of quieting the sharpness of ambition

Of seeking cleaner, bolder, fresher pastures

Of looking the insatiable tiger in the face

And saying decisively enough is enough.


Someone gets hurt. Better her than me, you think

Silly silly terrible things run across your mind

Betrayal anger hurt pride overall badness

And then serendipity and the moment of clarity strikes

In the midst of an alcoholic haze

The world is turning to shit and so are you

The paradise in your soul is lost forever

The tiger has won. And its tail is still in your hands.

The scrubbing never helped.

Nor did the milk, turmeric, honey

Or the countless smelly sticky things.

And so ran the quest for that elusive fair

Yellow was forbidden and so was pink

But red brought out a glow, otherwise so missing.

There were tears for the impossible

And consoling words that did not do their job.

Until there was adulthood and resignation

And even a kind of comforting realization.

Dark is the colour of the gods

Dark could have a power, it could be beautiful

If only it acted like it knew it.


UL on A Moment
UL on Meander
UL on Kills
UL on Tigers and Tails
UL on Dark and Lovely