The Poetry Marathon

After a long, long day
When exhaustion has seeped deep in your bones
It comes to your rescue
The cozy corner at your home!

It’s tiny, barely enough
But it has space for all your treasures:
A hardback copy of your favourite book
And your knitting gear on the oak table

A perch for your wine glass
With just enough room for a plate
Of sunflower seeds and maybe
Cheddar Cheese, if the day was extra tough.

And of course, hidden under all the blankets
Will be your satchel of knick-knacks
For the days you are longing
To relive a part of the past

Of the days long gone when you had
More as a way of comfort
Than just your cozy corner
Tiny, barely enough to hold your heart.

When vines took over
Everything stopped
Moving, breathing, existing
Only the strangling pain
The suffocation lingered in the air
Darkness descended
On eyes, soul, life
Without a shred of light
And no struggle whatsoever
Could unbind, unravel
The vines encircling the heart
In a vice like grip
Until, reaching out
A tiny hand in the dark
Pushed against the window
To outside, to remembrance, to freedom
And just a sight of that
Limitless eternity was enough
To tell the forgotten heart
The vines aren’t where you belong
Aren’t your happiness
And should you choose to fly
Wings await you to take off
Towards the infinite sky

The old, dusty piano
Sits in the corner
Tucked away amidst
Spirits and vines
Its keys are lackluster
The sound off tune
Yet it only needs
A slight brush of fingers
To hum back to life
It’s resilient
With age, it grew more so
Refusing to give up
Even in face of modern keyboard
The old broken piano
The old bent piano
The old nostalgic piano
The old friend… piano.

The mountain mist settles
Revealing winding paths with no end

The lofty winds carries
Our wishes up these paths

Towards the lonesome tree
Of red and pink

Under the clear blue skies
Where life meets eternity

The wish is simple
It’s doesn’t want much

Just a simple touch
Of that flower which blooms

But once
Up those winding paths with no end

Hidden in the mountain mist
That never really settles.

(Title line taken from Robert Frost’s poem “Stopping by Woods”)

The darkest evening of the year
Didn’t fall in December
Or even one of the colder months
No, it came in suddenly
One bright May day
Stricken with grief and loss

The darkest evening of the year
Has nothing to do with sun or weather
It has nothing to do with presence of light
Just the absence of hope
And life and dreams
And you and me

The darkest evening of the year
Is the one where we lost
Our home, our safety, our peace
The one where I lost you
The one where you lost me
And we both lost a part of ourselves

The darkest evening of the year
Didn’t fall in dreary December
But on a bright May day
Full of warmth and false sense of comfort
That one bright May Day
When the light of love disappeared.

Down,
Down we go
Struggling
Losing
Losing hope
Down,
Down we stay
Still
At peace
At peace with fate.
Down.
Down the hand
reaches
Taking hold
It won’t let go
Up,
Up we go
Towards life
With hope
Hope to endure.

A room with purple walls
Decorated with childish hand-made posters
Exactly three anime mugs
And various knick-knacks
Of all colors…
The mis-match, the chaos, to me
Is what feels like home…
A small space to exist
And just breathe
Without worrying about
The gazes of others.

(POV: because I read one too many conspiracy theories…. The Poetry Marathon is stuck in a time loop. Even after completing it again and again, the time reverts back to the 23rd hour. The poet’s realise this but the memories reset with each time loop… Disorientation, delusion and chaos ensues)

Time Loop

I am not sure how much time has passed
It always comes back to the 23rd hour
This endless loop, of thinking, writing, realising…
Realising — I have done this before
Not a deja vu, I assure
The time, it’s strange and we were just caught
In a mischief it planned
Or was it someone else?
A Halfer?
A Quitter?
Who can say?
Just a single fact remains…
It always comes back to the 23rd hour
This endless loop, of thinking, writing, realising…
Realising —
???

Wake up
Or not
There is no meaning to life
After all
It’s an illusion
The choice
Destiny itself
Nothing more than a rigged game
Wake up
Or not
It’s not your choice
After all
Because you are alive
You will need to get up and move
Sooner than later
Living is suffering…
After all.

A dirt road by the green fields
A lone car, traversing through puddles
The only remaining proof
Of last night’s shower
Apart from the vibrant green
Standing out even more in
The dreary weather…
It’s going to be a long drive home.