I was traveling on a road
A road with no diverging
A road expected to be smooth
A road texture of which can be trusted
I encountered many jerks
The ride was becoming unpleasant
I still continued
In hope of leaving the jerks
I encountered potholes now
The ride was now impossible
Yet I had some fraction of hope inside
I kept on travelling
I kept in mind
If potholes return
I will change my medium
Or will change the road
We travel on roads to get a smooth ride
Jerks can be tolerated
Even sometimes only
Potholes are impossible
If one continues their ride
Even on potholes
They either hope for a smooth path
Or are stubborn fools to drive
An initiative unforeseen
Supported by the Countess Aberdeen
Motivated several politicians and were
Encouraged to convene
In the year of 1920
When issues were aplenty
Delegates backed the Cork City charter
And elected MacSwiney, our dear martyr
Yet as many were to grieve
Others would also leave
They were faced with a new mandate
Upon founding the Irish Free State
However not everyone was happy
And things got rather scrappy
With views diverging ever-more
Making it hard to keep the score
The dust took a while to settle
And tested our civic institutions’ mettle
Though issues were left unsolved
Causing city councils to be dissolved
New problems were to be addressed
That would get the people rousing
Occupied with public works and housing
Making the managers obsessed.
That’s an oversimplification
For a topic deserving of dilation
An overview of a creation
Being the Municipal Association
Amidst the noisy world,
A unique character is bound,
Every creature has a sound,
A little moment shared, will find.
A day cold and drizzly,
Folks remain warm and sturdy,
Thin icy drops cheer their voice,
A dense squall amplifies the noise.
A rough buzz in the debate ground,
Eyes glued to the stand,
A diverging array of political discourse,
Convincingly, to retire the crowds’ doubts.
Cheers to whoever gifts the gab,
Some fellows are a conviction hub,
From thin air, they weave a narrative,
A magnetic tale, captivates even the brave.
A hard, engaging problem,
A simple mind game,
A peasant knows where to expect the most yield,
Conditions, inputs and efforts revealed.
The clock ticks, the dusk is near,
Eyes aghast, stomach butterflies in fear,
Cheers and jubilations crown the best,
Who knows what’s in mystery chest for the rest.
Leadership isn’t confined to a position,
Inability to win over crowd isn’t the end,
The courage to try is a sip of champagne,
Sit with the kings, wisdom ascends.
“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood….”
Robert,
You let the split remain unresolved,
and while we stand in awe,
staring at your crossroads
etched in gold and shadow,
do you ever wonder
what lay beyond the path
you did not take?
Even though you say,
“I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.”
Did the road arch upward,
an unfamiliar melody on the wind?
Or did it tumble into brambles,
a half-forgotten warning?
Even now I see your boots----
Mud-caked, maple-tinged-----
pausing at the edge.
Here’s my advice, if you allow it:
Don’t linger too long
in the pondering.
Step once more
into the thicket, the gravel,
the unknown blaze of paths.
And when your pen hesitates,
push it further
to sketch the forest where both trails end-----
or perhaps where they entwine,
branches brushing like old friends.
Some questions don’t need answers,
but oh, how they crave
a different kind of wandering.
Regarding Robert Frost’s famous poem, ‘The Road Not Taken’.
Leave It All Behind I
I am telling everyone reading this,
Especially the children
I love them
I am worried
I am alone
I am afraid
I do not want to give up
I do not want any of us to give up
Our home is to be defended
I would like you to
Understand why I am afraid
*
Many of us believe
Evolution gave Life
We and our fellow Species
Fauna and Flora Evolved
How amazing to learn
Of the Origin
Of Life On Earth
More than 3 billion years ago
The progression of
One stage succeeding another
Evolving, diverging through time
And then, after a long while,
We Are
*
Now one can say
The Dawn of Humans
315,000 years ago was a
Revolution of Evolution
(to be continued)
I’m the Princess of Procrastination –
Bow down at my feet!
For I’m the best example
Of delaying you could meet.
Go through closets? Get a haircut?
Start to organize my book?
Work on projects that are waiting
For a first or second look?
Days go by and I get lost in
Following my set routines.
If I contemplate diverging,
Somehow something intervenes.
So to you, my loyal subjects,
If your stalling’s got you down,
Glance my way and you’ll feel better,
For I proudly wear the crown.
Floating through time and space
We may wander and drift apart
But the balance of the universe
Anchors love in everyone’s heart
So even when seasons change
Causing us to take a step away
We will always find our way back
More clearly able to see the way
Detours sometimes shed light
On what has been true all along
Diverging paths eventually merge
Since we all just want to belong
My memories are gaining traction.
Shall I shudder the lone window
To our diverging souls’ abstraction?
I've never grasped this life.
And you were right, I'm not alone,
You are that longing strife.
Just like the moons and their gleams,
Given the certainty of the sea,
My desires were bursting at the seams.
I’ll sink into the endless reverie
Of all its fatal lullabies and divine beauty;
Here is where you’ll be set free.
I’ve run far beyond what my soul withstands,
For it now jades this mortal life.
The lone window fades into the fiery lands.
there was nothing else to talk about
we were at an impasse
our paths diverging here and now
closing in on a bittersweet goodbye
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
Golden winds bend here
Diverging into Summer
Over melting snow
I would stop thinking about the smallest details in my mistakes,
Those words would have more meaning than my thoughts ever had,
The days would encounter the opportunities, almost invisible in this deteriorated current world,
These limbs would linger into the depths of the browns.
There, where the horizons merge, my needs would start diverging,
Echoing through the opaque splash of blues and greys,
Resting on the stiff broken plates of peace,
I would carry nothing but my dreams,
The rest left in repose, as it seems.
- Swagata Lakshmi Das
Take my hand
together we can traverse the path
the hardships questioning the time before us;
we can look back
see what was compared to what is
recognizing we have traveled this way before,
just another road diverging
in between the wise and foolish steps once taken
now, eyes wide open willing to see
all the experiences in decisions
that set us free from who we were
to whom we must become,
the answers to the questions
before the earth and circumstance
is done.
To thee I pledge a life
Of voyages and unexpected finds
freedoms, winding garden paths and laughter
Walls of musty, well-considered books
the occasional bottle of mustier wine, carbonara
And an even mustier dog snoring with content, in front of our fire
Of peering through leaves at different skies
Or the same one, and seeing the meaning in either
walking the same road, or diverging
Always by your side
Awakening from dreamy fantasies,
Equal to departing birds from their nest
When prime rays of sun wake up Earth.
Towards exploration of world,
Voyaging out of customary dwelling,
For explicit proficient life.
Forging purpose of composure,
Innumerable entities subsisted
Just exceptional brought in unique.
Pitching a plausible promising goal,
Actions parallel to specific endeavour,
A journey worth traversing through.
Determination of particular direction,
Advancing tenacious spirit,
An arrow shot halts only at aim.
What else signifies living,
When scant nature nurtures all,
One has to opt from diverging routes.
When I was a child,
I thought like a child, played like a child,
free of worry and stress, innocently happy.
I dreamt of knights and dragons,
of spaceships and adventure,
my Chi clear and peaceful as the sea.
But now roads are diverging in the woods,
a dire beast drags itself toward Bethlehem.
Shall we continue our every day, dealing useless goods?
Or concern us with countless devils, try battle them?
For the end, my friend, is very, very nigh,
whether by alien extermination or asteroid strike,
or underreported, nefariously political, virally thrown die,
our world, old poets and authors saluted, will not end up as we like.
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