An Ode to the Moon
For everyone who thinks they are not enough.
What if the moon believed that it wasn’t complete
Just because someone else saw it when it was crescent?
What if it felt worthless
Because it wasn’t a part of someone else’s sky?
And for a change…
What if it starts believing that
It’s complete,
It’s enough,
Enough to control the oceans might
Enough to brighten up someone’s darkest night
Enough to be the metaphor for a pretty face
To be in verses of songs about love, beauty and grace,
Enough to be the spark in a child’s eye
To be the diamond of the sky
To be celebrated in all its phases
To be crescent and still have a festival that awaits its sight
To only show a sliver of itself and still be loved right?
The World Leaders Shake Hands as the Global Order Remains Shaken up…
Every time an innocent civilian is killed
Humanity dies a million deaths…
To think of how unsettling it is when
On an unsuspecting sunlit morning
Into two buildings that touched the sky
With no hint, with no warning
An aircraft with the intention to destruct can simply fly
And it did so taking lives
With huge clouds of dust, debris and smoke
The buildings collapse and the terror thrives
Glass shards went flying and held humanity in a choke
And years have passed ever since, yet today we see
On the pitch black fabric of the infinite sky
The blinding missiles blare the sounds of a white lie
As a mother consoles her child’s desperate cry
Her tear filled eyes only ask the question-“why?”
It truly is unsettling that
A war is inflicted by someone suited up in his chair
Someone who has a gun in one hand and a silver spoon in the other.
The bloodshed, sorrow and despair however, the civilians bear
And children crying from hunger can no longer be consoled by their mother.
The leaders create front page headlines
As the population bleeds to statistics
Wars end with ceasefires, pacts and signs
But a war doesn’t just destroy concrete and bricks.
And for each drop of innocent blood
Humanity cries already at the cusp of a flood.
The Greek Myth of Orpheus and Eurydice
Such a tale, time and time again the world seeks,
One like when it had seen
A love so strong it made the nether hold its fiery breath
And stronger still, it stood in the face of death
With its soft music it pierced through the guards of hell
The strings of his lyre Orpheus strummed, and hypnotised Cereberus fell.
With his song, he sang a story in the palace of the underworld’s king and queen
In the boundless darkness, ignified traces of love he’d seen.
He sang of his yearning for Eurydice, and the rulers of the underworld sat still
Reminiscent of their very own love, Orpheus’ desire they’d meant to fulfill.
They warned him, however, that he’d have to lead her out.
Eurydice would follow, and he couldn’t afford to doubt.
To turn to check would mean to lose her forever
By shifting his glance back, all ties to another chance he’d sever.
His long grieving heart was brimming with restlessness.
Eurydice patiently waited for his caress.
With each step the tension grew,
Yet he did what he had to do.
At the threshold of the two worlds, that of the dead and the alive
He stepped out first and turned back before she could arrive.
His ecstasy had now sunk into an all-consuming deep void within.
The world he saw felt meaningless, and his strength wore thin.
The immense love he held was the bane of its own fate.
The tragedy now painfully intertwined with what could’ve been an ending so great.
His grief only grew and poured out in his songs
As he sat mourning all his wrongs.
From then on, his grieving never ceased
But through his mourning, his emotions were released.
And the world around him paused to grieve too
While his heavy heart was still laden with rue.
Trees descended from mountain tops to hear his tune
While people across the world travelled to hear him soon.
And in his ballads resided his very own love
And immortal became Eurydice, in his realm and above.
Such a tale, time and time again the world seeks
And yet it pauses to listen, when their music speaks.
What Hope Truly Feels Like…
Hope isn’t a ray of light.
It’s a flickering flame.
An anxious anticipation for better
When fate takes the blame
To acceptance – it’s a fetter.
And it’s everything but bright.
Hope isn’t the silver lining of grey clouds.
It’s the excruciating interlude for the clouds to clear out.
The result is all that matters.
It’s the fingers crossed in doubt,
The heart like glass- it breaks and shatters.
Hope is exhausted, settled like a sediment in the heart.
Only to be stirred again and then completely torn apart.
However, hope is pretty, it’s true.
Though not like sunshine or bands of colour across the sky.
Not like clouds edged with pouring light
But it’s pretty like a delicate chandelier hung up high.
Easy to shatter, away at a great height
Like a dandelion, wistful and trampled on the ground
But ever staying, never vanishing, like a lingering sound.
