a new brown building has come up
close and yet not
I can't see who lives there
although the occasional blue tee
drying out on a line
in the glass edged balcony
catches my eye
who lives there...
someone like me?
a person much loved
yet sad and melancholy?
who has wings
that take flight
every once in a while
only to be clipped
not by winter
or the need to find a home
but by her own self
and the lack of wind
to hoist her up
far away
does she want to run
but not too far?
be happy but not delirious?
be content and yet want more?
be an achiever and ordinary all at once?
be a lover, a mother
a partner and a worker
and yet not 'be'
any of them at all?
has her heart been broken?
has she lost friends?
friendships?
loved ones?
has she forgotten
the hurt?
overcome the pain?
made peace with the demons
that inhabit the innards
of her fickle soul?
is she alive and happy?
or happy to be alive?
or just living and hoping
that someday
happiness
will mean more
than just
a smiling face,
or a hug...
when happiness
will mean
contentment and ease
peace and silence...
.................................
its funny how
when the world celebrates
the onset of a weekend
I curl up in my bed
and stare
the old dilapidated apartment
where the parrots perch
every morning
a dash of green
in the greys of the walls'
cracked and peeling facade
sometimes I wonder
who lives behind
those heavily draped windows
on certain evenings I know
no one's home
because the lights don't
switch on
at all...
some mornings I see
the fancy air conditioner's
outlet leaking water
indicating that she was home
slept the night
in her bed
does she sleep alone?
does she pile up the pillows
on the side of the bed
that is never slept in?
or does she squeeze one
between her legs
choking the loneliness
to temporary bliss?
does she remember being in love?
being happily ignorant
of life's travails?
or being high on the stuff
that blocks out memories and sadness
turning life into a haze of
welcoming euphoria?
does she feel regret, remorse
repugnant rage when she is cornered,
cheated, lied to?
or is she that person you see
standing in the line ahead of you
at a grocery mart, the one
who hides behind an easy smile,
and mouths 'thank you' for every
little gesture of kindness;
the calm, happy woman you wish
you could be?
does she live in a created cocoon
of self preservation
denying herself love, attention,
adulation and true affection?
does she desire?
or does she wish she could desire?
is her loneliness a symptom
or the cure?
..........................................
close and yet not
I can't see who lives there
although the occasional blue tee
drying out on a line
in the glass edged balcony
catches my eye
who lives there...
someone like me?
a person much loved
yet sad and melancholy?
who has wings
that take flight
every once in a while
only to be clipped
not by winter
or the need to find a home
but by her own self
and the lack of wind
to hoist her up
far away
does she want to run
but not too far?
be happy but not delirious?
be content and yet want more?
be an achiever and ordinary all at once?
be a lover, a mother
a partner and a worker
and yet not 'be'
any of them at all?
has her heart been broken?
has she lost friends?
friendships?
loved ones?
has she forgotten
the hurt?
overcome the pain?
made peace with the demons
that inhabit the innards
of her fickle soul?
is she alive and happy?
or happy to be alive?
or just living and hoping
that someday
happiness
will mean more
than just
a smiling face,
or a hug...
when happiness
will mean
contentment and ease
peace and silence...
.................................
its funny how
when the world celebrates
the onset of a weekend
I curl up in my bed
and stare
the old dilapidated apartment
where the parrots perch
every morning
a dash of green
in the greys of the walls'
cracked and peeling facade
sometimes I wonder
who lives behind
those heavily draped windows
on certain evenings I know
no one's home
because the lights don't
switch on
at all...
some mornings I see
the fancy air conditioner's
outlet leaking water
indicating that she was home
slept the night
in her bed
does she sleep alone?
does she pile up the pillows
on the side of the bed
that is never slept in?
or does she squeeze one
between her legs
choking the loneliness
to temporary bliss?
does she remember being in love?
being happily ignorant
of life's travails?
or being high on the stuff
that blocks out memories and sadness
turning life into a haze of
welcoming euphoria?
does she feel regret, remorse
repugnant rage when she is cornered,
cheated, lied to?
or is she that person you see
standing in the line ahead of you
at a grocery mart, the one
who hides behind an easy smile,
and mouths 'thank you' for every
little gesture of kindness;
the calm, happy woman you wish
you could be?
does she live in a created cocoon
of self preservation
denying herself love, attention,
adulation and true affection?
does she desire?
or does she wish she could desire?
is her loneliness a symptom
or the cure?
..........................................
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