Colors
and Illusions
No one
ever asked me if the sky is really blue.
Nor did
anyone exclaim about the dark changes in hue.
Nor do blind
children alarm at gathering storms in clouds of black.
And what
romantic seafarer could not wonder about the reds,
“Is the
horizon bursting into flames as it is consumed by the sun’s threads?"
Of all
the times one travels, to then sit and ponder the moment’s worth;
the
journey itself, is made more precious by the fellow travelers one shares mirth
and
folly with while discovering along the wondering way that fear is an illusion
and that
happiness is but a chance encounter of perception, in a time and a place,
where one
understands that geography itself, blends into a oneness without a face.
Day and
Night: irresistible forces each conceding to the other’s presence
and so,
time slips by leaving behind whatever was;
tempting
the Now with the illusion that time is of the essence.
Here we
are in the moment. There is enterprise here -
between
the graying strands of daylight
and the
moonless night
before
the ancient overseer
and
beyond the sky blue light...
Home, is
as intimate as inner prayer
or as
distant as an unreachable horizon;
monoliths
formed with stones of romance and nightmare
before disintegrating
within the stores of memory’s ware.
Loss,
any loss has a familiar story
however,
each one is set in unfamiliar circumstance; so sorry
grieving
is hard - even as loss drives the heart to hell in a blank trance
waiting for
the forgiving words that are somehow estranged in the scars of the heart
as the
rivers of tears drown out the questions of the illusionary art
asking, “Is
there blue in the waters or is the blue all in your mind?"
No comments:
Post a Comment