Another way to return

You still go back panicked, groping the old songs,

blinded in tunnels, to soothe your roughed-up

spirit. The muddy river comes along

in broken down wooden barges, loved up

smooth old piers, worn rusted cranes dipping

their necks into the water, and no-one

comes to greet you, and no-one is gripping

fingers tight in comfort, lifting your burden.

You can hear the sunlight playing, somewhere

on the waters, a cowherd with cattle;

but here it’s just four small, chocolate squares

of light on blank concrete, and static crackle.

The news comes on in the evening, and it’s

floating seaweed, there’s gunfire in the distance

mushrooms of smoke and dust on wizened targets

and faces still lean out, clenched in resistance,

and refugees are portioned, as if we’re

barbecue nations. You don’t know if Suzanne

will show you her harbours, if she’ll let you near

the river’s wavelength, or if she at all, can.

A lot of things top-of-mind today.  First off, I'll be returning to the  A-Z, and no two ways about that. The sign up is today. Not only will I be participating, I am in deeper than previously this year because I am a Ninja Minion on Ninja Captain Alex J Cavanaugh's team. (If I knew the exact emoticon to express the yayness I would totally insert it here. But since I don't, just fill it in yourself)  I am also all signed up to participate in the Colours of Life Poetry Festival scheduled for mid-April, which is a(n offline) poetry event in my local community.

It's the fifth anniversary of the Egyptian Revolution today, so my friends there are very much on my mind too. Hope it goes safe and smooth and that they each get what they wish for in 2016, politically and otherwise.

Anyways, the upshot is - April is going to be a superbly amazing month! Can't-wait-but-also-love-the-waiting-and-working-writing-researching-rehearsing-part emoticon here. 

Have a great week!

Just one face

Time wrings the beauty out of everything -

the morning now just shattered shards of light,

the depth of darkness sucked off from the night,

the moon crushed, forlorn, like a crumpled mothwing.

The road’s shell shocked, the world’s a drunken camp,

the heart of workdays stifling, oppressive,

the weekends frazzled with no rest to give,

the days hamster wheels, the sun a rubber stamp.

Just one face in the crowd means breathe and dream;

just one glance, one word can forge a connect.

Just one face missing and decades are wrecked

and years become an angsty high-pitched scream.

We either speak too soon or speak too late;

the chance knocks once and does not know to wait.

The trick of a clothes horse

There’s a full length mirror, and a clothes horse

and as I look up suddenly, it seems

someone’s standing next to me, but of course

there’s no one there. A trick of light. A dream.

There’s no-one standing here, just empty sleeves

stirring as if they’d still go around me;

it’s only a short-lived spasm of half-sleep

an image conjured by solitude, a leap

of faith and air, transient, imaginary.

It’s only an empty coat, and the one

who wore it is never going to walk in.

A throb of air and light, a reflection

behind a silvered glass. Soon the dark will thin

dispersing the solace of illusion

as if it’s nothing; nor has ever been.

Bearing witness

I’m not at that bedside when life ebbs from it,

I’m not at the riverbank when the pyre’s lit.

But I’m lessened all the same wherever I am,

and I bear witness in the way my life permits.

And I bear witness to each of those lonely trips,

to the vast, unending silence of silent lips.

I hold it cradled within the heart of my life

through every throb of happiness and all hardships.

A close and a favourite relative has passed away back home and I do not have the heart today to craft and polish fancy metaphors.  Writing it as it comes, the good (and there was much good, he was such a lively and fun person that just hearing his voice was a mood-lift! Really, he could give the term joie-de-vivre an inferiority complex!), the bad, and the ugly.  His daughter is making a lonely trip today, the loneliest possible, starting out from USA to India, the longest and the most terrible of journeys for anybody, and although I can't be with her as I want to be, I am there in spirit. Remembering, honouring, celebrating and mourning him every step of the way.

Back at the tavern

Because I might face hardship ahead, should I stop?

my loved ones cannot come always alongside me;

forget the tavern, not even to the corner shop,

but the tavern doesn’t yet know how to be empty.

The winemakers distil the wine, slow drop by drop,

each glass is filled to its level by the saki

and each patron comes to claim his usual spot -

an empty tavern seat’s still a rarity.

I may dither all day whether to go or not -

the spaces shrink or expand as the need may be;

the tables are few, but the benches find space, allot

each one a place, squeeze them in or seat them easy.

The saki too serves the same level, the same wine

whether I drink with strangers; or friends of mine.

Let's start with a blank page...

The year stumbles on old cobblestones,

slip-slides a bit, loses its footing

the hour comes with anxious undertones

a nervous sidestep when no one’s looking

hold its face steady and never betray

the minor flaw that spoils the symmetry -

the old year’s more than its last day

the new  more than omens and augury

shut the frantic pulses of blood and bones

and nip the fears, let the hopes hang free

a year comes and a year turns away

and somewhere between a fresh start’s lurking.

Happy New Year 2016!