Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash
---- Leonard Cohen
Thursday, July 9, 2009
It stands Erect at the peak supreme in its simplicity, Holding out its arms in welcome A refuge from a troubled world, A troubled mind.
The paths are many, Through dappled meadows, Arched palms, And dark woods. But the two climbers, see different things, In the evening gloom.
He, of the mind full-of-worms, Striding across creeping plants, Snapping branches like One day he would his mind, Hitting his stick on the stones pretending it was her, Ensuring that she would get lost, And he rushed ahead, Missing the path to the peak
She could barely stand, Trembling with more than fear, She dissolved onto the floor, And tapped around for support; A small clearing with trembling hands, shows a covered step, So a bit closer to the top, Somewhere, a lopsided smile, The trees are charmed, The branches bend to escort As she struggles across the clearing steps, A short breath, she spies a bud Face up to the sun, waiting for a new day, On its own.
The slow trudge to he top, Limbs tired , so too the mind, But the mixups in the brain have cleared, like the air after the first monsoon rain.....
Nature has its own court, For offenders of the mind, They are lost in the woods Worms all over their mind, Parasite is as parasite does.
Excruciatingly tired, She sighs as the house nears, A door swings open, Friendly faces at the window, beckoning her to a new life, Where a troubled mind Is patted asleep, Comfortably fed, And she nods off, To wake up to a new day, Amidst her new friends The mind in smiles.....