Every so often, you may find that The humans, in their various manifestations Of desires, vulnerabilities, shortcomings, and even Hopefulness and Beauty --- Are simply far Too Heavy --- You immerse in it, daily, Like wading, knee-high, in an air Filled by Molasses. But every so rarely, you may discover Creature companions of sorts, Whose dimensions only spare them Very plain needs: To eat, to drink, and if ever so lucky, To wander and play, Mindlessly --- Free from Love and Grief, Free, in the absence of time, Nowhere, and Everywhere.
Is it really true---what they say,
“One life ends, Another one begins.”
If so, is it the best one could wish for?
We live in a strange reality, one in which the best lessons are taught with loss and death. We survive the perished, and live our days breathing leftover air.
We go to different places, make new bonds, start and restart new lives---each a second chance, all to one way or another, make up for what we could not rescue in the first place.
"We'll do it Better this time."
It's not so sad as it is bittersweet, like the passing and rebirthing of seasons.
Who placed this horrific Thorn
In my Bone and Flesh?!
Was it a Tough Teacher,
Who, through all harsh disciplining,
Still intends to Nourish—
Or, was it merely
Wise Shamans kindly remind Us
To not think only in what Lacks,
But We mortals remain too Hungry
For our own Sakes—
Wisdom passed on,
Yet scantily We digest.
Oh the Irony, baby.
Are we Rocks
In this Fountain of Life,
Wet, but never to have
Drunken a true Share?
If it is too hard
To stay Awake,
May I at last humbly ask
My Love, my Kin,
my Eternal Mate, whomever
I think You are—
Could You please contemplate,
Inconveniently, this corny and overused Notion,
“Have you ever seen the Rain?”
Well, Have You?
Have you heard its Forthcoming,
And allowed its Simple Rumor
To have Stirred you
Shall We Sit
Side by side, and Once More
Try to taste the Ocean
In this Raining Sky?
Sitting under the courtyard shade,
a block of dimmed rectangular architectural space
lays mildly cool;
Outside its precisely defined borders,
The sun seemed to have dyed everything
a bleached orange.
Waves of incessant breeze;
although felt in this unintended shelter, still carried
faint streaks of outside’s ubiquitous, gradually maturing
Once more, the summer winds carry us—
some of whom have either been much too weary,
or others having regretfully
not been weary at all—
Into an apparently constant state
yet nonchalant dreaming.