I travel along
The thin edge of life
Steep hillside above
Roiling sea below
Confined
Yet
Content
Breakers rumble
And susurru
Their soothing song
While the drive
Becomes dance
With the curves
And rolls
Keeping time
As if the lilt
Of the waves
Sing the highway
Into being
Some days the world seems
So very small and I feel
So vulnerable
Destination calls
Beyond a pathless expanse
Beckoning promise
I’m gone
And she stayed behind
Or I left her
I’m not sure
Which narrative
I like the least
I carry her still
A memory under glass
Shrouded and unrepentant
A story ended
Without end
And yet untold
But for the voice
In my heart
That won’t let her go
Gentle seas
Jagged peaks
Sky in turmoil
So go
The many layers
Of I
We argue
Whether it is
The destination
Or the journey
That matters
But sometimes
We need only observe
The point of departure
As it recedes
Into the distance
It was the last full day in India. The smoke had been chokingly thick for the entire month I’d spent in the north, and Delhi hadn’t even been the worst of it. Still, I’d found a decent rate at a decent hotel (some small comfort in exchange for the respiratory distress) on the edge of Old Delhi’s fantastical Chandni Chowk markets for the final days before my flight home.
I look back
In order to move forward
Bring the past
Into the present
Record the history
So I can release it
Carry the memory
Leave the emotional toil
Of glories and traumas
In the wake
Stolen land
Stolen lives
Stolen dreams
Stolen hearts
Stolen culture
Stolen children
Stolen justice
Stolen time
Stolen generations
Thieves unrepentant
