Tonight I start a new book. This book on death
I am Intrigued by it, I too will face her one day.
Lost my dad to this mystery two years back
I wonder where he is now and is he smiling now?
The illness took away his smile, he didn’t smile for many weeks before his death.
He was grim, introspecting the coming.
Strange, we are born to die one day
But what happens after that ?
What we do in between these two dates is what counts they say
Or does it really count at all?
Life is a better word to talk about,isnt it ?
It is so endearing to you and me!
But isn’t death a part of life too ! ?
Nonetheless , the world will sleep tonight
leaving their worries to come and bury them the next day.
My mornings are always pristine and hopeful.
A nightingale chirps outside my window the whole day
She hides inside the tall bushy trees.
Last summer , I went down once tracing for her,
followed her cooing but couldn’t locate her.
My house opens up to a forest on one side
and a lake on the other.
It is beautiful to look-out sit-out any time of the day.
I prefer the forest side view.
They call it the army land but I call it the forest.
From my window I can see the top of those numerous trees
Thousands of those lush green ones.
Forming big canopies through their continuous layers of foilage
A white dove has a nest in one of them
I often see it gliding on top of the emerald cover
And then disappearing deep inside.
I have a wish , I want to ride this dove
And glide above these
Pristine shades of greens one day.
I like solitude.
Prefer to be left alone
I know , I will survive.
Small talks bother me and makes me uncomfortable
I do have friends, the sincere ones
A few good old friends I am happy around them
Don’t see the need for more.
One day I shall build a house overlooking the Himalayas
I hear the calling, they seem to be mountain-ing me
I puke all the way to reach them but still love them.
Want to be near them when the winter would cover them all white
And the spring with spray colours just right.
I plan to clean the mirrors of my house today.
They look dull with fingerprints of the dwellers
As I clean them I stare into my deep black eyes
They are beautiful with deeper stories inside,
With a little more world to see before they shut down on me.
As I clean, a song from my playlist plays in the background
I love this song by Enya, it is deep
“Who can say where the road goes
Where the day flows, only time”
I too want to write a song one day with such beautiful lyrics
And I shall and I will soon,
Because sitting beside my bed side table is the grey book
that I start tonight.
She is waiting for me to hold her
This book on death….
©Preeti S Manaktala
Because it’s a Saturday, I have an (optional) prompt for you that takes a little time to work through — although you can certainly take short-cuts through it, if you like! The prompt, which you can find in its entirety here, was developed by the poet and teacher Hoa Nguyen, asks you to use a long poem by James Schuyler as a guidepost for your poem. (You may remember James Schuyler from our poetry resource for Day 2.) This is a prompt that allows you to sink deeply into another poet’s work, as well as your own.