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The Ritual

Our everyday has become

A joyous never-ceasing

Repetition of the same pattern.

 

We wake up

At different timings

Me before you

 

And in the strange assurance of that

I’ve noticed

You sleep even more soundly.

 

That makes me smile

I tread over the cold floors of our room

Softly, so as not to disturb your snooze.

 

You sleep through

My repeated opening and shutting of doors

Of packing my bags…

 

And then sleepily

Grip my hand

And give me your cheek

 

For that seal of a kiss

Knowing well that even as I’m leaving the house

I’m not leaving us…

 

That’s the great thing about patterns

They work in sync, symphony

And revel in simple predictability.

 

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The Way We Were

I look at old pictures

Of me…of us…

And marvel at

The play of time and space

Tricking us into believing

That we’ve changed

For the better

That we are today

A truer version of ourselves

Didn’t we feel the same way

About our old pictures back then?

Memory is an echo

That travels from yesterday to today

It’s the sound of the dreams

We saw together

Change is discernable

Only because it plays out on

Something unchanging

I know we’ve changed

Because something about us hasn’t.

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Neither That, Nor This.

How strange that

Today, I no longer am

What I once was…

 

The freedom today

Belongs to the confinement

Of yesterday.

 

If I am not that

Then neither am I this.

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What Makes Me Angry

When justice is what I want

Injustice makes me angry.

 

When truth is what I want

Lies make me angry.

 

When perfection is what I want

Imperfection makes me angry.

 

When agreement is what I want

Disagreement makes me angry.

 

When respect is what I want

Disrespect makes me angry.

 

When strength is what I want

Weakness makes me angry.

 

When ‘one way’ is what I want

‘Many possibilities’ make me angry.

 

When power is what I want

Disobedience makes me angry.

 

When morality is what I want

Immorality makes me angry.

 

A burning desire for one thing

Burns down everything that comes in its way.

 

It’s not imperfection, injustice or disrespect

That’s the cause of my anger.

 

It’s the desire of that thing

That stands outside of me…

 

Unreachable. Unattainable. Evasive.

That makes me angry.

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Disgust

Disgust, I feel you

But find you difficult to understand

How strange

That you are the face

Hiding under the mask of pleasure

Why, I wonder

Is pleasure your grace;

And your disgrace?

What do you want me to see

Now that you and I

Stand face to face?

…That things are

Not what they seem

That their charm is fleeting

And that a lie

Needs ingenuity

To seem like the truth.

Things are what they are.

Their correct proportion

Is a sense cultivated

Through dispassion and distance

Knowing fully well

That pleasure is a gift

Of the imagination

And disgust-

An ironical reminder of that.

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True or Imagined?

That memory…

Of when we met by chance

Was it true or imagined?

 

That sentence you began

But never finished…

Was it true or imagined?

 

That moment soaked in feeling

That spilled out of my eyes

Was it true or imagined?

 

The meanings I draw

From your short sentences and your prolonged gaze

Are they true or imagined?

 

What if I trusted

For once

These out-of-sync moments…

 

After all

We don’t always abide

Within strict definitions.

 

We feel

More than our words

Can convey

 

The rest

We let slip past the gaps

Like sand slips through our fingers

 

There are many paths

I haven’t walked…

The roads weren’t paved

 

I couldn’t tell

Where they would go

And would that place be true or imagined?

 

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Breathe Deeply

The well of wisdom

Lies deep below the surface

Of appearances

Which can only show

Our scars and our smiles.

We must come to see

That wounds run deep

And that resilience is a counterforce

That becomes a tree

Which grows upside down

Rooted in experiences

But flowering in deep reflection.

Happiness can never be

An attribute of the superficial

Its source is a fount

That bursts from a force within

A deeply intuitive one

That has learned to assert itself

In the face of misleading appearances.

When you breathe

Breathe deeply.

 

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Look Ahead. March On.

How do I look beyond

What I see at present?

Is that seeing a matter

Of imagination, or faith?

What must I presuppose?

What must I know?

 

The present will cease

To overwhelm you

If you understand that it is

Only an event

In the expanse of a larger destiny

That awaits you.

Don’t cling to it

Don’t linger on it

For too long…

If the moment is over

Leave it behind

Knowing fully well

That you are on your way forward

And that if time hasn’t stopped

You have to continue walking…

You have other promises to keep.

 

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Unavailable

What if you are unavailable to yourself?

The mind occupied

With thoughts that are not about you

The heart beating silently

Your talents offered

Without a care for reward

You stand detached from action

The act of waiting for your turn to come-

For the time when you will be available

To attend to yourself

-has an incredible power…

It sustains you without

All the things you thought were necessary…

Worry…Self-concern…Validation…

…the time to exist just for yourself…

Without them as your cause to be

You stand in effect

Freed from all the limitations

That define your littleness.

 

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Till We Meet Again…

I wish you’d leave
I’d like to be alone

In a time and space
Freed of the need
To be guarded

Right now
I don’t want to care
For what you will think or feel
I just want to
Touch base with myself

But then in my solitude
I find myself searching
For that permanence
That’s supposed to be me
…A me without you.

What an ache there is
To find no such thing
Just a hope that one day
When the curtains come down
On the drama of our lives

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