Category: 10th

We break through thick, gray clouds and I see innumerable bright lights below,
Shining white from tall silhouettes, jammed into one long, narrow island,
Each warming this frigid night of someone with a name.
Twenty six letters in the alphabet, an infinite number of names.
We all have one, given at birth, before our parents know us.
I walk crowded streets, snow flurrying across the myriad faces in front of me.
A tiny, wrinkled woman, her head wrapped tightly in a worn, red scarf, I call her Amaya.
The darkest skin and whitest teeth of a young man without a coat,
hands shoved in baggy pockets, weaving briskly through bodies, maybe he is Robert.
The ear-muffed girl bouncing beside me calls her brother Billy, and he turns,
pink cheeks and wet nose, smiling at her, as they discover this new city.
A warm, packed restaurant called Angelo’s, an artsy street called Cornelia, an immense cathedral called St. Patrick’s, a solemn monument listing 3,000 names.
Our names announce our existence, introduce us to this world, represent who we are.
The power of a name.

Where the birds fly south for the winter,
Where the stones and paths erode,
Where the sun meets the peak of the mountains,
That’s where you’ll find That Old Road.

Tucked away within the winding fields,
Moving along with the river’s flow,
A long path stretches for an endless time,
That’s the road I’ve come to know.

It lies hidden within the rocky mountains,
Its life is written with grooves and cracks,
Its paint faded and rubbed off with the test of time,
Only a small sign marks the end of the track.
The sign reads: “You are home,” in weathered paint.
A sentiment to the weary traveler
Who has blindly followed all this way.
Then the road will end and so will your journey,
There at the edge is where you will stay.

So perhaps it is best to avoid the path,
Unless you truly wish to know.
Often the journey is not as it seems
Following That Old Road.

Where the birds fly south for the winter,
Where the stones and paths erode,
Where the sun meets the peak of the mountains,
That’s where you’ll find That Old Road.

Tucked away within the winding fields,
Moving along with the river’s flow,
A long path stretches for an endless time,
That’s the road I’ve come to know.

It lies hidden within the rocky mountains,
Its life is written with grooves and cracks,
Its paint faded and rubbed off with the test of time,
Only a small sign marks the end of the track.
The sign reads: “You are home,” in weathered paint.
A sentiment to the weary traveler
Who has blindly followed all this way.
Then the road will end and so will your journey,
There at the edge is where you will stay.

So perhaps it is best to avoid the path,
Unless you truly wish to know.
Often the journey is not as it seems
Following That Old Road.

As an adventurer starts a journey,
In search of a grand treasure,
I begin something new,
Blinded of what was to come.

As an adventurer follows a hazy path,
With lessons to learn,
I make my way along my journey,
With teachings that took too long to learn.

As an adventurer nears the end,
With one final challenge,
I reach a highpoint,
Unaware of the end lurking close by.

As an adventurer claims the treasure,
They head home with their heads raised high,
I reach my treasure,
Only it was knowledge that,
What I seeked didn’t exist.

Going around the great globe
One plane ride at a time.
Each individual destination with its own
Characteristics that make it its own.

The landscapes vary from place to
Place… some flat, some secluded,
Like those surrounded by salt water.
Some of these reach for the sky like
Those peaks covered in champagne powder.

Transportation from one realm to another,
Flying at top speeds through the skies,
Or by crawling, restricted to the ground.
Sometimes you make it by floating;
Usually carried by propellers and currents.

The people you will meet from
One land to the next
Will keep you searching for what land
Could be beyond the horizon.

In the winter
Our skin splinters
Just like the floorboards,
Of an abandoned house in winter.

It creaks in anguish
It’s cradled memories for as long as the season
Very few are joyful,
Most are melancholic.

A despairing woman once sat on the porch
Sweetly she sang,
Like the fruit grown on the now bare trees
Now she weeps a ghastly cry.

Once in my bed I lie awake
The time is half past twelve
I believe through and through that my life is at stake
The earth moves around my cells

I feel the dirt under my fingertips
my fingerprint matching the tree stumps
I lay my head kissing the grass with my lips
Yellow and black, a small bee bumps

I begin the process of melting into the Earth
My skin evaporates into the atmosphere
I have been newly birthed
yet my heart is not full of fear

So next time you look up at the trees
Take care to remember that you are looking at me

Shimmering lights
Glowing Diya’s
The radiant rangoli colors
Bright yet elegant
Graceful yet calming
The smell of mithai;
Jalebi, Gulab Jamun, Kaju Barfi,
The sound of laughter
Music bursting in the background
All like perfect puzzle pieces
Fitting together
In my heart
On my favorite day

I’m brought out from the dark and cold garage
To be decorated with light and ornaments like a collage
I shine and sparkle like an actor in the spotlight in a play
Brightening this home on Christmas Day
Gifts so many gifts placed under me with so much generosity
Kids looking under this tree with so much curiosity
I feel so happy to be a part of this great day
Where I can be displayed
Everyone starts to gather in the living room to sing in harmony
The Christmas carols that are spoken so heartily
All this joy fills me with happy tears
Hands put together for our prayers
Kids waiting anxiously to open their gifts
Hoping it could be something from their lists
Kids one at a time opening their gifts enjoying their moment
Seeing their happy faces brings a smile to mine
Night falls and I’m afraid my time has run out that is …fine…
The day approaches, head hanging low, knowing what’s coming
My dresses being undone am no longer stunning
I’m afraid it’s time to say goodbye
On my way back to the garage I let out a sad cry
Until next Christmas Day
Where I will be displayed again

You await me, night after night
Deep in a dream
So much so that you are actually here
First, I hear the clawing
Relentlessly at the ceiling and walls
the scurrying of feet all around
You are everywhere, but nowhere
You are all around me filling all my senses
But I can’t find you
I can smell your stench
Rotting animals, and old lunch meat
Can I see it, your arachnid body
Stiff limbs, crunching with each movement
Your body, halts, and shakes
Unnatural, not human
You disappear
Returning into the darkness, gone
You fade away, into the void
Then boom
Out from the shadows you grab me
You latch on with your unyielding claws
Pulling yanking, clawing and teething
Chomping and feasting
Staring up at me with your hungry eyes
You fill me with agony
but I can’t Yell
Can’t scream for help
I feel all, everything
Every fiber, every ligament, every bone
Flesh to flesh
Pulled apart, ripped clean
Shoved into your jaws
Unyielding you feast until there is nothing but my eyes
As you take one last look into my soul
Your body transforms
But not into some hideous creature
Or some disturbing being
No
But my own face
This is the last thing I see
Before you rip out my eyes
And leave me in darkness
Once again.