Ashok Jahagirdar Poet Free verse

The Cartographer of Maybe

The Cartographer of Maybe 
© Ashok Jahagirdar

The map I was given is fading now,
Its borders, drawn in another’s hand,
Are bleeding at the edges.
The roads, so straight and promised,
End abruptly at a cliff
Overlooking a sea of questions.
The legend’s key—a child’s sure script
Of “always,” “never,” “wrong,” and “right”—
Dissolves like mist in morning air,
A topology of borrowed light.
 
A Dizzying Freedom

I am drawing my own coastlines,
Tracing the capes and inlets of my becoming.
The compass spins, a dizzying freedom,
And north is wherever I plant my feet,
A little lost, a little wild,
Charting the wilderness of maybe.
 
The Shedding

This new parchment is my own skin,
Stretched taut across the ribs of hope,
The ink, a blend of scar and dream.
I sketch a bay of Solitude,
Where tides of thought can ebb and flow;
I dare to mark a mountain, Failure,
Its height now something I must know.


 
The Equinox

Let the old chart curl and blacken,
The map I was given is fading now,
Its borders, drawn in another’s hand,
Are bleeding at the edges.
The roads, so straight and promised,
End abruptly at a cliff
Overlooking a sea of questions.
I am drawing my own coastlines,
Tracing the capes and inlets of my becoming.
The compass spins, a dizzying freedom,
And north is wherever I plant my feet,
A little lost, a little wild,
Charting the wilderness of maybe.

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