Time Warps Strangely

 

Time warps strangely,
like distorted reflections
in a hall of mirrors.

A month slips by in a blink,
gone before it’s lived.

Yet years in the past
feel as though,
between then and now,
  I have lived an eternity,
wandering through
the folds of time.

Thank you, Dear Jane

It was only yesterday
that I was sitting
in a fetal position,
hands folded across the chest,
and the forehead,
trying to reach my knees.

In that position,
I was rocked by invisible hands,
tying to get some traction
on slippery sands
and bring myself
      to stand.

It was only yesterday
that I had wondered,
is this what it feels like
before
      the end?

It was only yesterday
that you were calling
county’s hotline
desperate to find some crutches,
and not let me fall
into the abyss.

You did not want us
      to end,
not yet, not tomorrow,
      not ever,

because,

you had loved me,
loved us being together
loved the simplicity
of sum of our moments
      adding to  more than
what they were,
and because,
you were
a born fighter.

It was all only yesterday,
but it feels so far away
      as we cuddle up
for a movie,
and are thankful for
      normal days.

I wonder,
if this what it feels like
to be born again?

And for all that,
Thank you, Dear Jane.

Let go the thought of the next

Old man
(and that would be me)
enjoy this cup
of amber-brown tea
      that is
nestled in your hand
      on a winter morning
and let go the thought of
      the next cup
that is already brewing
in your mind,
      with the anticipation of enjoying
after this one ends.

That cup of tea
is going to be
      no different
than what already nestles
      in your hands.

Enjoy this kiss
that is already on your lips
and let go the thought of
    the next one
…

      … 

The Internet

 

It is much too hard
climbing mountains,
      and so,
we just surf
      the web.

Everything after all,
      chooses the path
of least resistance. 

May be or Maybe

 

There is tomorrow
but perched at its front,
       always sits a 'may be'
or a 'maybe'—
and if not leading,
      then it follows.

‘May be’ tomorrow
      or tomorrow, ‘may be.’

‘Maybe’ tomorrow
      or tomorrow, ‘maybe’.

Whichever way, perhaps
we will still be together
      come tomorrow
and that is so much easier
      to convey.

The Perhaps of Life

Is there a way out of the existential dilemma of needing to live and yet being aware of mortality?

Perhaps there is an antidote can one take to ward off the conflict that the internalization of mortality is susceptible to bring? A glass of red wine? A belief in something, divine?

Perhaps, for some of us, there are no permanent resolutions, and the best we can do is learn to manage the conflict between two illusions.

Perhaps, we must always live with the realization that occasionally, the rug may be pulled out from under my feet.

Perhaps part of managing is accepting that for some of us, this is as good as it gets, and having this option is a blessing.

Perhaps another possibility is to experience a sense of universal connectedness, which brings about the feeling of existing beyond one’s current form, the ‘self’.

Perhaps one day, the essence of such ephemeral moments will be captured and preserved in a glass vial, to be worn, and the walls of mortality would be torn.

Perhaps, one day, I will wear a smile that mirrors the serene joy seen on the lips of enlightened beings.

Perhaps… 

All radio buttons were checked

The day had gone well.

All radio buttons
on the to-do manifest
were marked checked
(and I thought
the spirit was ready to
blast off) -

muscle strengthening exercise - Check,
10K steps - Check,
the breathing regimen - Check,
eating well - Check,
a bit of journaling - Check
reading few pages of a book  - Check
and a short walk
in the neighborhood woods - Check.

By all measures
it should have been a
poster worthy day
something to be lived
over and over,
and over again.

And yet,
it did not feel so.
There was something crucial
that had gone missing.

Making someone smile?
Sharing someone’s fears?
Helping a person cross the road? 
Calling a friend, and  just saying
Hello dear?

Life had gone well.

All  radio buttons… 

Is it just me, or it happens to you too?

 

The week that's passed is often marked by the happenings of Saturday or Friday,
while the escapades of Monday or Sunday before them, like old photos, begin to fade away.

Old photos, that once promised to anchor us to the past, to transport us to days that once were a blast,
become just glossy papers, cold to touch, promising much, but are no saviors, as such.

Is it just me, or it happens to you too?

The memories, like old photographs, fade away, leaving us with something much less than what we thought was a forever glue,
between me and between you.

Epics (of death) and Chapbooks (of birth)

 

There is more to read
in the epics of leaving
than in the
chapbooks of arriving.

On arrival
we are but strangers -
us and them,
me and you
- who just happened to share
same time and space.

There are no
tales to tell,
yarns to be spin,
secrets to murmur.

But when,
it is time to depart
we have jokes to share
tallies to make
of loves, of laughters,
of angers, of sorrows,
of fragments of hearts
there will be,
come tomorrow.

There is more to hear
in the epics of death
than in the
chapbooks of birth.

In finiteness a quest for eternity is born

In finiteness a quest for eternity is born

 

Midlife is the time to let go of an over dominant ego and to contemplate the deeper significance of human existence  ― Carl Gustav Jung

 

Arun Kumar

Twenty years. Thirty years.

Or it could be just one more moment, one more day, or one more month.

There is no way of telling what it would be. It is perhaps something one does not want to know either.

What would happen if the moment was known?

When far, it would just be an ephemeral thought.

Sure, one day it will get closer but for now the time between here and then is long enough for few galaxies to form, few stars to born, few civilizations to evolve.

Or so it seems.

But gradually the moment keeps getting closer and becomes harder and harder to ignore.

And then…

…one day a realization that it is destined to happen dawns and decides to stay.

Time is no longer as bountiful as it once seemed to be. It suddenly feels compressed.

What is ahead is certainly not long enough for galaxies to form. It may not even be enough for a caterpillar to become a chrysalis and turn into a butterfly.

Yet, within this narrowing corridor of time, a transformation happens. The brevity of what is left makes it so much more precious.

In its finiteness lurks the promise of touching eternity.

In finiteness a quest for eternity is born.