Aananda

This is an ode to all the poems I’ve come across that  reminded me of you. The ones that I’ve carefully saved to share  on a rainy day, or when we bid farewell And I can finally be vulnerable. A section of my wall filled with those reminders and I guess I’m giving myself the privilege of love  although all of reality calls against it.  There are no consolations to be done here. I have found something magical in the air that I cannot grasp. A beautiful flower  that I did not pluck. And I let it live its natural course.  And when it leaves, I hope it creates space for something new.   

I don’t want you far away;  While I sit here, reading one book after another  pondering how I've had to delay  every conversation for another day  since you haven’t been around.  But you’re unhinged; indifferent; still the same.  You’ve met women the likes of me,  and you hold an ambiguous interest in everybody.  And I’m here; opting disconnection as a form of protection  creating clear demarcations of what you can and cannot see;   creating limitations to my vulnerability.  I’m here; holding my suspect edifice upright in the air, as atlas did the sky. 

Today, I ponder  over the delicate endeavor  of life; where each step  calls for the most curious  concern and care towards the other.  Each misstep to be re-assessed  with a gentle touch.  where we're delicate both  in our thought and speech  as we choose our words carefully  pausing with each breath as we breathe meaning into the words we speak.  When you’re delicate in your dealings  of everyday life  and everyday people; and  we all make sense of the world  standing shoulder to shoulder;  a life well lived presents itself to you.  There is no cause for concern.   

I’m living each moment like I’m going to be here forever  Buying furniture like we’re building a home together  Getting a mortgage like we’d never split the difference  Flying like Icarus, wings spread, soaring towards the sun.  But we’ve both been through these roads before forever would be short this time again But each time we pause, I wish for a night  where dusk turns to dawn, and the memory stays like the songs of my youth, I remember every word from. 

there are conversations to be had, and pretends to be played. embarrassments to laugh at,  and colleges to complain of.  There are problems to be shared in short crisp sentences,  and consolations done just the same.  With a wish for more, but solace in some.  There’s distance between you and I the width of the universe.  And here I am, glad to be in the same universe.

you would’ve enjoyed knowing me; to see how I love the same music you did; to see that I eye      and love    just like you did. and with your time here, you found a way to be us. and I could use some aid in knowing how to be me,  because these puzzle pieces keep getting lost  and I lose another each time I go in search for one. But in remembering you i hope that our shared DNA would make the pieces you left behind fit perfectly into my gaps. and I’d know myself through you. But now you’ve fold into yourself and there’s nothing holding my universe together.

I once walked past two frogs that lie; Dead and dry and dirty at night; And I looked past and turned my eye; Like all who ever crossed that sight. The next day I wandered again; But only one of two remained. Left unattended, it still lingered; While the other one got wiped away. Our gates shuddered as a woman cried; Begging for alms, more for her child. And I looked past and turned my eye; like all who ever crossed that sight. And I’ve seen barefoot kids on streets; With their misery on their sleeves. Offering toys and tales unsung; As I continued to stare up front. ‘It’s all an act, you can’t fall for the trick’ But the act itself is the suffering. We ignore the evident pleas and cries, But praise those with a benevolent eye. I wish to never be that person again; Never to turn my eye and pretend; Like you were just another animal dry; Left unattended under the sky. -To Naomi

now i’m a curious stranger  enchanted by your softness. Let me be a tourist in an unknown store; i’ll be patient in your vastness.   my fingertips glide across volumes. tell me, which one do I choose? I have forever in your world, but find me a beginning worth my muse.   my footsteps echo in this world left empty and ancient. but i’d read you cover to cover; Shaking brown dust off brown titles and ordered pages.   my yellow tulips grow in your grounded brown. like belle in castle; with you, I’d like to find my way  out of this provincial town.