Regrets

 

The fabric of any life

Can still rejoice in glowing mornings,

The summer caress of soft breeze

On a field of yellow dandelions,

The farewell glare of a sunset departing

Into a flourish of stars across the night.

These gifts still grace this punished planet

Under the agony of humanity

Whose pride resides in ravaging the amazing intricacies

Woven from the many millenniums of our inheritance.

 

Totems of fierce love and furious hatreds

Scatter backwards in my life almost done,

Stand like blackened boles of a long burnt forest

On a blasted landscape of almost a century.

Monuments to time and place

Bedecked with torn rags of miseries

Flecks of sparkled smiles,

Tinsels shining in bright horror.

 

This existence to which I must lay claim

Does not stand out to compare

With multitudes of tortured, massacred, obliterated masses

Sacrificed to the strange idiocies of human acceptance.

Nevertheless, our ordinary common baggage

Filled with most beloved dead, still squirms

With twisted errors and mistaken confrontations.

Vibrating with faint screams, denied protests

And mistaken apprehensions from raw fears

Remain a persistent burden which cannot be put away,

Repackaged into innocence.

 

I bear parents long gone. A dead son and a wife deceased

Most missed for decades who re-appear in dreams,

Still full of currencies that vibrate with existence, with

The electricities of pleasure, hope and desire

And the vivid fragrancies of just to be alive.

I awake in early morning night submerged in despair.

The subjugation to times lost dissolves in morning coffee

And the treasures out of memories sustained

Against the morning sun.