Potpourri

If ever you were wondering how hard it would be to slowly dance across a burning room, then you wondered enough about the pointless allegories of life. For life, a mere mirage of ideals and dreams, a recluse for those who believe that there can be such a thing as the realisation of morbid, unearthly, irreplaceable, unattainable goals: a fortress of unsavoury hopes and adorations. Then you find out that there is little more than a year left. Or maybe that year will soon be reduced to a sum of only a few of its months. Perspective changes with each hour passing. There is no more need for courtesy or regret. This is happening to me, to someone close; to someone I should feel close to. But even if it happens to the most irrelevant person, that hymn should not be forgotten solely for the reasons of irrelevancy.

For forty years I have lived a loveless life, without meaning or tenderness. Save, just save a lovely minute of your time for me. I will promise to cherish that dear moment for all eternity. For now I know what time means. You, the beholder of eternity, and me, and how no other can threaten the sovereignty of the magnificent dream. Even if you appear in a glowing white robe, just a silhouette on the distant horizon, I will hold you close to my heart and whisper words like love. You may see the purest of emotions appear on my tired face. The bones sharp and brittle, old and used through the wondrous years of an elusive life. But as of yet, I have not had a chance to weep.

And this, this is a one page poem with no rhyme or structure other than strands of thoughts that run through my mind. But there was an emotion that started this non-poem, started everything. I clearly recall how helpless I felt, how frustrated and how useless. How wondrous I thought the journey home was. How easy it was to love and how painfully difficult it was to be loved. Reciprocity lost interest, a long time ago. And with that, no story got ever fully told.

Who could dispute the obvious? He says there is no way that I can compete with the other woman. So I draw stick figures in the sand, on the paper and imagine my life in only two dimensions. There is the dimension of me and the dimension of what I imagine to be. But I stay earnest in my efforts to convince myself that alone is what leaves me thriving, happy, inspired. Let’s leave tonight with the hard earned conviction that what’s ahead is something to look forward to and what’s behind is nothing but an empty collection of minutes deemed significant. I may even find someone who will make me enter the world of three dimensions.