The Road to Danger

The road to danger is one oft taken by many -
its charms are difficult to resist.
One who craves for the thrill and the rush
that a static life cannot give will fall prey.
That one has to chase after ghosts and
Run against the wind shows the nature of man:

Man is dynamic. We do not think all the time,
Nor do we reason. We leap, and when we do,
we take the road to danger, throwing away
Our precaution, our sensibilities, our consciousness
and replacing it with faith in life itself.

The urge to leave, to learn, to feel:
They are dangers to us only if you see us as fragile.
Yet once you open your eyes, you realize
They make up life’s most precious gems.

So throw away the gnawing worries at the corner
of your mind. Set out for an adventure,
And learn to embrace life in a different light.

One is only given so much time to live,
Yet many take it for granted. I say,

Take the road to danger and start living.

The Separation

If only for a moment I could hold you again,
That softness enveloping my arms
for a seemingly eternal moment. If only
For a moment, just a moment, I could
give you that love you asked of me.

Yet my fragile heart cannot be moved:
No longer are the buds of emotion there -
That tree has been long since emptied.
This imposed winter will not pass,
And the heart that was broken remains broken.

If only for a moment, I could look at you
And not see disgust - If only I could
bring myself to forgive the unforgivable.
But the wounds are fresh - my back bleeds
from your betrayal. It cannot be undone.

Yet here I am, looking longingly
As you float away, towards the sun,
Feeling not my hell, but your peace.
You have chosen freedom, and I -
I have chosen regret.

Onward

One last race: she bends down,
Reaching for the floor. She has to bow down
To all her insecurities, all her shadows,
for one last time. She has to drop her fears
On the floor, where her feet stay put
For just a minute more.

 She looks, for the last time, below
At the land where she is standing:
There is no looking back afterwards.
The gunshot rings in her ears, and she
takes the steps towards the future,
As if there is a crowd cheering.

But the race is with herself,
not with others - she is running,
Not to escape the ugliness of the past,
But to embrace the uncertainty
that the future brings as consequence.
As her tears and sweat drop behind her,
She runs, gaining confidence.

Her breath is running out, and yet
That tells her she is near the finish line.
No more looking down, or back -
She runs toward the rising sun,
Its rays embracing her as she crosses
that coveted finish line. Then all is silent.

There is no applause, no regard.
There is no celebration. At the end,
She walks away from the track silently,
feeling her life has been fulfilled,

Not The Pen

‘Tis not the pen, but the words
That offer a child such wisdom;
‘Tis not the pen, but the thoughts
That give a man such solace.
‘Tis not the pen, but the actions
That help or hurt an ailing soul;
‘Tis not the pen, but the mind
That keeps fragments of those past.
For that is the very purpose
of our tongues and voices -
‘Tis ourselves, not our pens,
That write mankind’s history.

Life as Postmodernism

Life, when taken for granted, breaks
Into millions of pieces. The pieces are picked up,
One by one, by the passers-by,
To be nurtured, taken care of, so it may grow once again.
Life, when taken for granted, breaks
And when it is shattered, there is no way
Of putting it back together as it was.
Instead it is reconstructed, the cracks a reminder
of the adversity it had to suffer to become
The broken masterpiece it turns into.
There is the concept of postmodernism:
You take something apart. You put it back together.
It is never the same afterwards -
Then, all of life is a postmodernist chain:
Take a pristine life and drop it on the floor.
Listen to it break into many different pieces.
Let the pieces affect the lives surrounding it, and,
When it is ready,
Let it try and remake itself into a masterpiece,
Cracks, pieces, and all.
It could be the same person, but the thinking
is forever changed by the experience of breaking.
Life, when taken for granted, breaks
and regroups into its old shape with a new face.