A sea of storms

I listen for life
between roars of thunder and rain
the humming of the radio
the thudding waves of water
splashing forth against the windowpanes

Alone in this dimly lit room
surrounded
as if upon a boat
drifting off into an endless sea

The orchestra of elements
are a fine tune
A sum of their parts in unison
The skies clashing instruments
never far from the warmth of the interior’s lonely glow

There is nothing more than the tired spark of a flickering light
flashing upon my helpless hands
The impact of consequence still as far
as the seconds between the strike of lightning
and the sound of disgruntled thunder

If I was ever to forget you

Was it a person so good
that I laid to rest
buried under a million wild flowers
devoured by a state
unyielding at our behest?

If I could ever have stopped our tears
or sparkled your eyes
Put a smile on our faces
for laughter
that hadn’t shown for a while

We were an endless pursuit
Unattainable to the determined
Selfish to the yearning
Searching for the purest version of a person
in the face of the uncouth

I followed us through youth
through fact and fiction
through darkness
and unjustifiable truth

If madness knew of fatigue
silence would know only
of curiosity and intrigue

So I bid goodbye
one navy blue nighttime sky
and blew out the candle
that sat just outside
the apple of my eye

Bedside lamps

I shift and toss
turn across
flip over in my bed
into my world now lost

I close my eyes
only to hear sounds
I plug my ears
to see the world spinning around

I fidget in place
a smidgen in space
An intricate trace
left over in a life erased

To efface my day
would take a long sleep
To keep me awake
would ask for more to seek

I exist in a place
between night and day break
To move my limbs
would be to give it all that it takes

Still, I gravitate to life
a being bound and fully tied
I crawl out from under covers
into the world through my bedside

If only warmth knew

If only warmth knew
that the frost would melt
if her burning hand
was to slide right through

Turning ice to dew
standing under the faces of scorn
to face only a moment troubled
under the shooting stars and falling icicles

A place I know

There is a place I live
where there is less to take
and more to give

A place where there is water
but much more thirst

A place where taking a breath
is to be doing better than our worst

—

There is a place I stay
where we’re always immersed in gray

A place where a spot of sunshine
does us just fine
to take us through a bright but cloudy day

—

There is a place where I have been
where we have all been worn down thin

Where we cherish and care
through everything that we spare

A place where we do for all who we love
to find a way to escape our own despair

A Greater Heaven

Sometimes I wonder
if that man swallowed by darkness
with his heads wrapped
in layers of sweat-covered cloth
sitting on the sacks of potatoes
on a chilly Mumbai night
covered in mud and dirt
in the back of a makeshift truck
was already promised a greater heaven
than I

Galaxies

The ocean is full of stars
My skyline is a sea
A sight to see
always near to where we must be
never to know where we truly are

The planets are hearts
galaxies filled with bleeding shapes
Seven floating wonders of the world
with one placed apart
further than the others in outer space

The Moon is faded sunshine
The Sun a persistent shining light
They burn around us a glow
Showing everyone we know
how darkness can be so fiery bright

The lakes are rivers and rain
whirlpools spinning away in force
Valleys cut deep into the landscape
like slices of cake upon mountainous plates
our breath inhaled is the universe’s source

No escape

Today, I did not march
through a stream of words
from the mouths of strangers
I didn’t stop to look at the dogs
or to look up at the sky
to wonder of the warmth
and the shapes of the numerous clouds

I did not look at the ground
every manhole cover was missed
the abstract patterns upon concrete
and the cracks upon the asphalt
resembling tributaries to a river
were not present

The birds might have chirped sweet songs
The children might have been playing
Aliens may have landed in the park
Soldiers might have marched through the streets
screaming in foreign languages
There might have been money hailing from the sky
A red moon in broad daylight

But today, I simply walked
far away from this world
although I could have sworn
my neighbor saw me

Lakeland

The lakes pass by in the morning grey, one after another. I watch the surrounding water from the window seat of a train. A gentle mist settles over the lake surface, the fog rising slowly until left with little direction but disappearance into the horizon. A drizzle intensifies into rain, thrashing against the train window until the world is visible only through bubbles and streaking droplets.

The train tracks travel around still waters, through browned fields of muddy grassland. A small path lines the train’s direction but there is not a soul to be seen on this cold, rainy morning. There are only birch trees without the sight of birds, and miles of tracks covering long distances between remote stations. Spring is no longer in the air, the train traveling a road between the deserted and damp scenery.

All is quiet within this view, all as scenic as it is somber. The grip of melancholy refuses to strangle fulfillment today but the view begs to woo wanderers into serene, sedating silence. The train briefly stops but there are no passengers. It rolls forward, back into a collage of grassland and trees.

Rain comes down harder, turning the train windows into a curtain separating the warm interior from a storm. Water races down the length of the glass, obscuring views of distant barnyards and streams. The land sketched with thousands of lakes is alive and alluring, bouncing rain water droplets off pond surfaces and over brooks. The train flows like a current alongside a gushing river until it cuts through the water and carves its own path. I am submerged in the view, falling asleep under the covers of the unique springtime surroundings.

In the name of silence

It wasn’t that I didn’t know John
I knew his liking of plain T-shirts
The denim jeans that he would walk out of his condo in
always a size too big
How he would look away slightly
or turn his head to look at the ground to make a fast exit
How he was a large man
but tried his best to appear as small as possible
although he was quite mighty

It’s just that for twenty-five years
my neighbor John
was a man of great silence
hesitant to spare words
never to deviate from the quiet
with which he shrouded himself in his world

His silence didn’t wish to bear hostility
It didn’t force distrust
No suspicion or fear entered the moments of chance
when we left our apartments at the same time
every morning without fuss

I didn’t realize until much later
that I never saw him in company
he was alone
but often left his home
driving away in a truck never occupied by anyone
just himself
on his own

I wondered how he went
from day to day
in the grips of a brevity
the longevity of his silence
outlasting the possibility of patience
left in most of humanity

I couldn’t tell if his stoicism
was a choice
determined by anything aside from my imagination
to replace his voice

A “hello” always met
with a “hello” in return
A nod with a nod
Rarely, a smile with a smile
always a calm without any wish to further prod

Yet, when I looked in the mirror
I couldn’t see any fragments of John
or the reflection he seemed to create
when confronted by my pleasantry
refusing the need for debate

Perhaps a life lived
is one earned through delicate exchanges
A silence maintained is a quiet kept
in the face of turbulent phases

If gain was determined by social currency
a word would be a dollar often bartered for nothing
but the same,  
removing urgency

With John, it was all I wished it to be
all the thoughts my mind could conjure
all the possibilities the brain wouldn’t validate with certainty

But there was nothing I came to know more
through the encounters with my neighbor
than the entrails of myself
spread through contemplation’s labor

The thoughts I was left with
when faced with the accidental hero
the world seemed to eventually favor
The insistence of his endless silence
that nature deemed to be of a value much greater