A SLICE OF LIFE
That humid night I sat huddled
On the corner of my lonely bed.
Feeling like an insignificant grain of white sand on an endless beach;
Like one of the thousand measly ants marching an endless parade.
So many nights I had spent this way,
Stewing away in my misery, gross self-doubt
Tentative in each step, I had been so afraid, Shielded
By the shadows, sinking deeper in my ocean's enormous pout.
My skin itched from the heavy beads of sweat,
In thorough boredom I lifted my eyes;
To the old cracked ceiling fan, its blades
Whirring wearily, letting out raucous cries.
Amidst this I heard a gentle slamming
Against the curtained window to my side
I was startled as it zoomed in, quick as lightening
Steadying itself as it looked for a place to hide
Still wrapped in my depressed bubble, my eyes
Followed it with mild interest as it danced
Frantically and swiftly, higher and higher;
Searching, like me, to and fro it pranced.
And as if in a trance I watched as it hovered
Dangerously close to a blade.
That silent swish, sliced life into two chunks,
On the floor the bee lay dead.
The bubble burst, in epiphany that I had lived another day.
I was cringing away from ever tug of love.
I was shunning every trace of a smile and every tickle of laughter.
I was letting the tears clog my eyes, blinding my mind forever.
Did I want to be unhappy?
I was drowning, but I could resurface still.
And I did, to find the sparkling sprays of water
Eddying toward a vast shore.
I would not let the moments coagulate and steal past me.
I would swim up there past the retreating waves, and explore.
With this I stretch my arms to tear down these curtains of mist, as I cope
With emotions that I cannot yet comprehend, and a feeling of unmistakable hope.
3 comments:
I like how honest this poem is. Poems about subjects such as self-doubt, grief, depression, etc are usually very pretentious, they try to be as intricate and grave as possible, and are full of melancholy metaphors. But when I read a poem like that, it doesn't strike a chord with me because I personally don't see how anybody could associate wordplay and intricacy to a subject that abounds in sadness. I believe that it is a very naked emotion, and a very arresting one. This is exactly reflected in the poem. There aren't many frills, feelings are recounted and not dressed up in words, and it rhymes. That very fact echoes how comically helpless most of us are in the hands of grief, prancing to it's tune when all we want to do is lie down with our faces to a wall. The element of ridicule that the rhymes bring to the poem is exquisite. Then there's the use of 'cut-and-dried' metaphors, such as oceans and ants, these also shine a comical light on people who try to 'aesthetize' their grief, but grief is a very simple thing, deserving of and understood by simple language. The bee I feel is a metaphor for the busy and mindless lives people lead, ignoring their true calling and following orders, this kind of life 'tears them into two', so to speak. You see these people, walking around surrounded by pointless self-importance, and the fact that you aren't one of them makes you a little happier. The fact that you can talk about being sad in such a simple and frankly humbling way, the fact that you don't need to dress anything up for the sake of your own insecurity, and the fact that you can open yourself up this way, that's what being an artist is all about, to me atleast. It takes courage to write this way, and to pull yourself out of a hole. And I'm proud that I know a person who's got that kind of courage. Get into a tub and have some cognac, you're an artist.
:-) I am once again, absolutely flattered by the way you have analyzed something I wrote, and of course, because you called me an artist. Really, I cant stop smiling. When I wrote this poem I remembered exactly how I felt during the hardest time of my life, so torn and lonely, and I did nothing about it. I think each of us have been through a phase like that. Like you said, Its very simple, sadness. There are indeed, no frills to it, no glamour. Tears aren't glamourous, only in movies maybe. But it is wonderful to come out of that phase, to realize how momentary life is, both wonderful and unnerving. And its true, one night I actually saw a bee die, and I decided not to wallow in self pity anymore.
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