Over at Poetic Bloomings, it is all about the Thanksgiving Holiday. When I first arrived to the US, I had little appreciation for the holiday. This was not because I lack some fundamental empathy bones. It was because I had no appreciation for the exacting demands of day to day life in America. I also had no appreciation for the vastness of the geography and the fact that family members could live on the other side of the country and rarely visit with each other. Sixteen years later, I have a much different appreciation now.
A Rose In Bloom
Photo Credit: Meena Rose
A Young Poet In Her 38th Year
By: Meena Rose
Mind, now work as well as you can;
Let your right be fused with your left;
This is your chance to break that dam and
Break the walls of morbid rationale.
Heart, yours has been an uphill battle;
I have lost my right to ask more of you;
You gifted me empathy nonpareil and
I locked it up in a box – afraid.
Soul, yours is a story of stubbornness;
Resilience as it is known in some other circles;
Giving up is a foreign notion to you;
So is throwing in the towel and surrendering.
Yet, in the end, or was it in the beginning;
In this circle of a life, I have no clue
Where to start and where to end but at my
Origin, I had already surrendered.
Thirty eight years it took for me to learn
That I will always rise to your call;
A sister in faith in this brotherhood of man;
My curse is suddenly my gift.
My life, it has turned upside down or
Is that right side up? Reference points
Shift with time mocking our need for
Absolutes – the way points of mankind.
In a world that has highly evolved its
Shades of gray and reduced plausible
Discernment, I am grateful, no joyously
Thankful, that I can navigate in this
Topsy turvy life and still find myself
Moving undeniably forward towards a
Shimmering horizon that stays barely
Within sight – heart, mind and soul,
My tireless guides – I thank you for
Your service and your conviction
That I am still worth the fight;
Thirty eight years have taught me
That promises are hard to keep;
Desire, a motivator that operates
In fits and starts, is unreliable;
Solitude can be tricky, an echo
Chamber, a hall of mirrors,
A sense projector – a powerful
Messaging platform but who’s
Running the show?
Every night, I lay down and wonder,
Am I doing it right? Am I generating
A return on that celestial investment?
At the nexus of stillness where my
Breath is withdrawn and the cosmos
Exhales, I catch the scented hint of
A whispered answer – a Yugen;
A wellspring of warmth bubbles and froths
Sending lava flows of unrelenting love;
The Zamboni machine of life, its heat
Smooths over wear and tear restoring
A blessed sheen to one exhausted poet.