Skip to main content

Destinations


This road ends here.
But as the destination beckons me,
I long to return.
To the long roads that smelled me,
That travelled a long way to listen to many stories,
To the pastoral lands that buried a thousand songs of herdsmen,
To the sumptuous forests
Of untold mysteries and hiding horrors,
And to the orchards of lovers.
As I long for the old paths,
The willow trees whisper
Helping the hairs to raid my ears.
Seeing the destination that awaits me,
I hardly seem to recognize it,
My heart resists to embrace it.
When the willows continue its whisper,
I long for the old motels,
Yearning for a way to it.
But the sky seems to jeopardize my plans,
Threatening with multiple invisible sounds.
The way ahead seems to be weary and unenthusiastic,
The sky whoops before the ultimate outbreak,
It screams giving me afterthoughts,
Suspicion creeps into the hemispheres of my mind,
Replacing the poor creator with reason.
I walk towards my unenthusiastic destination for a shelter,
Hoping to return.
As I run,
I see the lighted home,
Bright and unmoved
By the criticism of nature.
And then the willows shouted sharply,
"What is good for you is always ahead of you".

A.C

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Most Nights We are Alone

  Most nights we are alone,  Trying to form a shape,  Wrecking with the pain of a bleeding heart,  In desperation to flatten the lump formed in the throat,  Trying to keep it as calm as possible Not to wake our partners beside us.  Most nights we are alone,  Clenching onto pillows,  Playing loud music,  Pretending sleep,  While we writhe in pain.  Most nights we are alone,  Thinking of faces that promised company,  Faces of people we assumed would hug us,  Hands that we thought would caress us,  And talks that we registered would soothe us.  Most nights we are alone,  Peeling off our gender,  Searching for an identity,  Making sense of our essence,  Organizing our anger,  Revolting against the structure,  Living past the breaking point,  Storming a mysterious body.  Most nights we are alone,  Cursing the dreams we believed,  Blaming the instincts that spurred...
Post a Comment
Read more

Recognition

'Happy Women's Day ' Those three words transformed her. It changed her imperfections into Perfections. It fastened her daily Chores. It gifted a smile to her Face. It motivated her Spirits. It gave rhythm to her Heartbeats. It made her Hairs dance. It increased the sweetness of her Lullaby. It brought back the glitters in her Eyes. It was the recognition from her Husband. A.C
Post a Comment
Read more

Dear Gretta

  Dear Gretta,     Your songs are like a poem that was long forgotten, that gives a dejavu everytime I listen to it. It  reminds me of New York City where you felt alone, where you were ditched by Dave and where you found yourself through Dan. You were never ready to compromise, you  were fully conscious of what you were doing and never doubted your own instincts. Even when you felt a connection with Dan, you helped Violet to reconnect with him, bringing out the beautiful guitarist in her, which eventually got him back to his family. Yet you smiled for being the reason behind reuniting Dan with his family, you smiled even when you knew that this would leave you all alone again. You gave yourself truly into your songs that you could not tolerate the loss of its essence, the mere commercialization of it.  You breathed music, danced and walked with it. Even when you knew that those are fleeting moments, the moments in New York City where every song in you...
Post a Comment
Read more