To be all alone
In the middle of a crowd
Is not what this life
Is meant to be about
To be all worn out
In the midst of gaiety
When striking a simple conversation
Marks the onset of anxiety
To be unsure
Of what others feel for you
Is a disservice to your own feelings
Which define and make you, you
To be high strung even at night
When others seem to rest in delight
Is a very unkind plight
So just follow the light
Of your own heart
And let it guide you home
To centre and ground you
To love and surround you
For above all that in this world may be true
You, yourself, owe it to you
The only difference between my desires and reality
Is that the former is limited by my own sense of worth, imagination, faith and frailty
Remove these from the equation
And I’d be unparalleled, limitless and undefined like infinity
If you look carefully, there’s a deep profundity in this piece’s brevity
So tell me what you make of it?
Isn’t ‘new beginnings’ a redundancy?
Or do we all go around chasing old habits, places and people
Time and time again
Swimming in circles
Getting nowhere faster
Content with circuit being our lot?
I think next time
I’d just like to have a beginning
No new beginnings
Begging to begin again
The rising sun brings with it
Hope and joy
A renewed vigour for life
Invincibility and motivation
As if you’re god’s favourite creation
And nothing, almost nothing, is out of your reach
The setting sun speaks to me
Of calm and peace
Of rest, overdue and well deserved
Of satisfaction and bliss
Of a day well lived
Of an evening well loved
And I go to bed content
In the certainty of another sun
Which soon shall rise again
And bring with it
Hope and joy renewed
You ask me if I’m a dreamer or a realist
As if being either could define me in your eyes
Or being both at the same was incredulously impossible
I am a dreamer and a realist
For if you wouldn’t dare to dream
How could you possibly fathom the limits of your reality?
I read and quote Sylvia Plath
Whenever I’m feeling low
I dance on some jazz music
To drown away the blues
I arrange tulips on my desk to remind me of the sun
When the skies are grey outside
And you wonder why your gaslighting
Merely makes me smile?
In a universe so infinite
Why would you want to love finitely?
Define yourself with numbers
Like scores, marks, weight, age, people?
Why limit your soul to one astral plane?
Why restrict your knowledge to only that which is defined?
What’s stopping you other than your own self-imposed boundaries?
Even if the universe were to be finite
Why couldn’t you live infinitely?
Why shouldn’t you?
Even if the universe were finite
Go ahead and write your story
On every particle of it
A cup of coffee and the sea
And a little bit of you and me
A burst of wind blowing towards the land
And the entwining of my fingers with your hand
A setting sun, mirrored across the water
While we look on, marking our happily ever after
He wondered if I’d ever written something with him in mind
Confessing he’d been scouring for a piece of him in every word of my pieces
I could only smile and say no
Little could I tell him though
That his disappointment was misplaced
I yearned to tell him so
I could never do justice to the embers he ignites within my soul
For I’d never be able to write anything for him
There just aren’t enough words
Or lines good enough
To sum him up
So I write
Day and night
In the hope
That he has me tongue tied
Did I ever tell you about the love stories trapped in misty, yellow street lamps?
Of cold winter nights and foggy, dewy mornings?
Of the sweet partings they’ve witnessed and the unshed tears they’ve hidden from the world by dimming their own glimmer?
Of happy reunions, drunken songs, smitten glances and lingering fingers, unwilling to let go?
Of forgotten paths from childhood days
Of forsaken crushes from teenaged forays
Of forbidden meetings and notes exchanging
Of broken hearts, dragging feet, slumped shoulders and endless pining
Ah! did I ever tell you about the love stories trapped in misty, yellow street lamps?