It has been said
Pix or it didn’t happen
All too true
In a literal sense
As the mind grows older
And my memory weaker
It has been said
Pix or it didn’t happen
All too true
In a literal sense
As the mind grows older
And my memory weaker
The common image of me and my faith
Is naught but a reflection in a rippled pond
An inverted, distorted misconception
Of institutional icons
Revealing nothing of me or my heart
Sol yet plays coy with leaden horizon
But there is enough magic
In dawn’s wan light
To illumine the contrast
Of ancient glory
Astride modern poverty
While camera and I
Find beauty in both
You with those sad eyes
In the sallow light
Backdropped by electric blue
And me with the glass eye
Recorder of moments
Context only by supposition
I could not ask you then
What countenanced such sorrow
Or was it just an unguarded moment
Emotion apparent in an unintended gesture
I am left only with guesses
While you cannot even know
Someone reflects on this moment
From half a world away
This parade of life
This hubbub of trade
Of needs
Of desires
This chaos of order
And community
And here am I
Amid the throng
In the moments between
Want and have
In the choices between
Necessity and pleasure
This is existential quandary
Alone in my thoughts
In a sea of solitary moments
Each a universe
Borne from a solitary mind
Known only to itself
These in parallel all
With the essentials
Of desire
And necessity
A flurry of universes
Sharing a single dimension
While in my universe
The bodies of a thousand strangers
Dance in cadence
With the flow of trade
A performance at once
Exquisitely mundane and beautiful
Market day patience
Soft light for light-hearted friends
Heavy load their throne
A burden carried
Against the flow
In the dim light below
Undaunted
Unperturbed
Destination in heart
Resolute
Relentless
Though obstacles obscure my steps
The narrow path is straight and true
Through it all I make my way
In motion
I am still
In stillness
I am empty
In emptiness
I find no peace
Hollow
Haunted
Vacant
Amidst this familiar pandemonium
I alone am solid
Yet invisible
Carrying as passenger
A pain which pays no fare
Answers no questions
Offers no solutions
The me of this moment
None will remember
Not even I
But here
The pain shuffles off
Into the crowd
And I will not remember it either
A night market lull
Politics and jewelry
Impatient vendor
They call this “golden hour”
But every hour spent with you
Is golden