A child remembers growing up --
always hungry; hearing that the
moon is made of cheese. On cloudy
nights, sent to bed without dinner.
For some, sadly, imagination is the
only way of surviving...till the body
atrophies -- and the soul deserts its
dream.
Yesterday I unscrewed the top of the
homemade huckleberry jam you gave
me before you left for Lisbon.
I took deep purple breaths to fill
my light pink lungs.
It was such a necessary experience;
the vision of you in my mind’s eye
atrophies each day, the Atlantic
between us casts foggy shades on
my eyes and the crystal clear memory
muddles like a lake after heavy rain
The anxiety of asking you a question
when I have no idea what the answer
will be, but have every notion of what
I wish it to be. It’s a 60 pound backpack
4 hours into an uphill hike, so I resign
my curiosity and just tap the Portuguese
postcard nailed to the wall beneath
the light switch every time I leave the house.
and hope that you would do the same.
I try to cling to old memories
But my brain thinks differently now
I try to visualize that world
But my eyes see differently now
I try to hold on to the curiosity
But my heart beats differently now
My neck doesn’t tilt so far up
Birds sing softer in my ears
Clouds look more and more like clouds
It’s best to cling to memories by reliving them
I train my brain to be young again
It’s best to strain your sight a little farther
I train my eyes to see more
It’s best to suspend some disbelief
I train my heart to be inquisitive
Childlike wonder is a muscle
It atrophies, it doesn’t disappear
We just have to try and train a little harder
I
Hindus and their admirers often speak of their Trinity: Brahma the Creator, Vishnu the Preserver/ Sustainer. And Siva the Creative-Destroyer (in the way death of a seed, or if old family members also intimate). One theory of Cosmic origins similar to the Phoenix rising from ashes was also endorsed by the Vatican around 1920 (a Belgian priest-scientist gave us that theory of a cyclical Universe).
II
The dance of atoms, molecules, particles and waves is anticipated in the Hindu teaching that after several thousands of number of years, the cosmos atrophies, so Siva dances Creation again ( dance if molecules?). The Hindu Scripture focus more on all life and creation is nothing but vibrations. Gold and lead are dancing or it's molecules are dancing different dances, yet dancing vibrations all.
a sanguine sun sinks - as night's ebony curtain of darkness descends
shadows coalesce - shapeless silhouettes conjoin - color atrophies
Seek Trial and Error
Seek what is right in a world filled with myth
Entering now with my family and kith
Each day is a test to judge what is right
Knowing its change in the course of the night
On making attempts to stay on my course
To further myself and find a new force
Fore’ my brain atrophies I must enforce
A brilliant new theory I can endorse
The theories exposed when I know I am wrong
Make me more anxious so I can be strong
Form new ideas as the start of a song
Eliminate errors where they don't belong
The pride of my theory produced to a fact
For life is a trial that I must endure
To sharpen and hone so I feel secure
From various forms of ideas I have hacked
Future
Europe
Have many old people
We need
Young people
To replace the aged
If we are to, continue
As nation states
Europe is big and
Underpopulated
We deny entry
To the millions knocking
On our doors
We atrophies
Into senility
Fearful of changes
But Europe of yesteryears
Is not like it is today
And Europe of
Tomorrow
Will not be as it now.
Future
Europe
Have many old people
We need
Young people
To replace the aged
If we are to, continue
As nation states
Europe is big and
Underpopulated
We deny entry
To the millions knocking
On our doors
We atrophies
Into senility
Fearful of changes
But Europe of yesteryears
Is not like it is today
And Europe of
Tomorrow
Will not be as it now.
That I had sheltered time's renown,
within my courage, rapt to own.
Not going forth to speak disown
as if some error finds condone.
This action, atrophies exponent,
and God's resounding, fades to drone.
My silent heart could curse unknown,
nor love, nor love for Thee not shown.
All light itself remains alone
while darkness gathers and is prone.
The storm, the storm resembles home
and love for Thee, remains a poem!
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