“Myriad Melancholia”


Weeping has become such a norm, for me, these days.
Actually, not by a long shot.
I don’t even cry, nowadays, except that moment
When my dog passed away.
That was the only time when tears visited my eyes
And I felt the need to enshroud myself in darkness;
Just so I can appropriately grieve for someone so dear.
Most days, I’m like this–
Tough, aloof, and stoic.
I get bored with my voluntary solitude;
Hence, I pester family and friends–
Evoking hilarity and gregarious chatter, all around.
Most may see me as rough and courageous;
Because, heck! I don’t really back down from fights
And I’ve proven myself capable of surviving, all this time.
Yet, most do not really know my story
And, in truth, I’m not one to hang my dirty laundry
Out in the open, for everyone to perceive.
I’m rather more of a cave creature who adores
The coruscating tendrils of shadows, way too much.
Not everyone deems that my joyful existence
Has been anything but a trail of painful scars
And broken promises, all the way.
Although, ’tis a tough little life and I can go on and on
About the travails that abound within my psyche;
Yet, aren’t we all similar in that sense?
Life isn’t a rainbow of rapture–
And every bend in the road doesn’t really signify success
Or even that elusive pot of gold.
We’re all naught but siblings, on our way back to God.
Even if it’s a given that this trundling universe
Is filled to brimming with a myriad of foibles and aches–
Each one is granted a chance at redemption, natheless.
So, take that hefty staff and plod through the pathways.
Perchance, you’re on your way to fashion
A Brobdingnagian discovery–
Something that’ll fulfill your own appointed mission,
Here in this whimsical, troublesome world.

┬ęDiwa

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