A blatant imitation of Rilke
can help me falsify my life? Make it so
that I, from the beginning, cherished sage advice
offered, like garlands, to temple visitors but I,
never the believer, was the youth who snuck
out from the party and found amusement in
counting leaves on the trees, befriending,
or rather chasing, the squirrels, only to be
dragged by the ear when they noticed me missing.
Here I sit, half a decade, half a world
from that memory, drenched now in fell tears, and
recreated for solace as another day
pierces through the dark sky’s cloudy thighs.
(Oh, how I wish they’d abort this child)
The sun stares at me, and I
stare back, past it’s brightness, past the day,
past the present itself down the long lane
life has become that I walk but as if
I’m in the wrong aisle at the supermarket,
or lost in an unknown street, and the same feeling pervades:
I’m not where I want to be.
It’s at about this age, they say, to marry.
I’ve realized love has nothing to do with it.
The long lane could be barely bearable with
someone to talk to. Love, I’ve found, begins
not from a spark or connection but a drive to cling
to whatever branch hanging out the cliff overlooking
the crevasse of solitude that looms beneath. But each
is a branch to the other, and are both so close
to falling that they clasp their palms shut tight:
I’ve seen the end of my life and I don’t like it.
I refuse it but the voice I shout ‘no’ with
is turning from a loud roar to a quiet quiver.
I don’t chase anymore. I sit and distract
myself from the dullness. I am addicted to this,
and I’ve yet to find a fault with that. Songbirds
aren’t inspired. They sing out of habit. I write
poems and for the longest time I
didn’t know what to make of it, but now
I know there’s no grand design. This is
just another way to waste my time as I
walk down this long lane. Angel,
I’ve changed my mind.
Poetry by Sameen
Read 160 times
Written on 2021-10-24 at 16:24
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Irving Elegy
Who amidst the hierarchy of angelscan help me falsify my life? Make it so
that I, from the beginning, cherished sage advice
offered, like garlands, to temple visitors but I,
never the believer, was the youth who snuck
out from the party and found amusement in
counting leaves on the trees, befriending,
or rather chasing, the squirrels, only to be
dragged by the ear when they noticed me missing.
Here I sit, half a decade, half a world
from that memory, drenched now in fell tears, and
recreated for solace as another day
pierces through the dark sky’s cloudy thighs.
(Oh, how I wish they’d abort this child)
The sun stares at me, and I
stare back, past it’s brightness, past the day,
past the present itself down the long lane
life has become that I walk but as if
I’m in the wrong aisle at the supermarket,
or lost in an unknown street, and the same feeling pervades:
I’m not where I want to be.
It’s at about this age, they say, to marry.
I’ve realized love has nothing to do with it.
The long lane could be barely bearable with
someone to talk to. Love, I’ve found, begins
not from a spark or connection but a drive to cling
to whatever branch hanging out the cliff overlooking
the crevasse of solitude that looms beneath. But each
is a branch to the other, and are both so close
to falling that they clasp their palms shut tight:
I’ve seen the end of my life and I don’t like it.
I refuse it but the voice I shout ‘no’ with
is turning from a loud roar to a quiet quiver.
I don’t chase anymore. I sit and distract
myself from the dullness. I am addicted to this,
and I’ve yet to find a fault with that. Songbirds
aren’t inspired. They sing out of habit. I write
poems and for the longest time I
didn’t know what to make of it, but now
I know there’s no grand design. This is
just another way to waste my time as I
walk down this long lane. Angel,
I’ve changed my mind.
Poetry by Sameen
Read 160 times
Written on 2021-10-24 at 16:24
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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