I watch from my bedroom window. The neverending roads below stare back at me with open arms. I counted the people below with my fingers. One, two and three. They left their footprints with the hundred that have been printed there before them. I tried to see their faces, but failed mercilessly. I guessed that one of them was a child, and the tall woman walking beside him was his mother. They disappeared from the sight of my eyes as quickly as they came. I pondered over the fact that I may or may not see them ever again.
The low creaking of a gate opening, pulled my eyes to the house opposite my own. My neighbor appeared through the gate, and he too, started walking through the road. He stopped under the streetlamp and sat down on the chair under it. His eyes wandered through the pages of a book.
I stared above over at the sky. The evening had already turned to the early stages of the night. I pulled my curtains over my window, my mind still thinking about the quietness of the night and the unpredictability of the journey called life.
The grains of sand escape my cupped hand. I watched every single grain hit the warm brown land. The sea crashed a little bit farther, and ancient sea shells collected at it’s edge. My eyes wandered to the calm sea, and it’s soft music roamed through my mind. The night sky above hung over me like a wish, and my moon watched over me. My eyes wandered to my left, and the old house met it’s glance.
The hue of gray, hung over the house above the cliff. It overlooked the vast sea and was treated to its tranquility. There were kind-masters who roamed the house, and some who were unkind. In that house once dwelled people who loved to walk by the sea and some who hated its music. Through its old rooms little boys and girls had once laughed and played. Now it stood idle until a new master came along to take it to their name. My eyes filtered away from the house and I wondered what the future would hold for the old house and me. The future and its uncertainty haunted us both, alike.
I am so pleased to announce that my poem ‘Is That Nobody Really Me’ got published at Spillwords Press. I am honored to be accepted by such a prestigious magazine like Spillwords. Thanks to Dagmara. K and everyone at Spillwords’ team for accepting and publishing my work. It is truly a dream come true for me.
“The tress whispering secrets As I walked through the path The land washed away my sadness And my heart slowly fell apart
Wind rhymed with melodies That lost and became an elegy…..“
You can visit Spillwords and read my full poem here. Thank you very much for reading. I am so grateful for your support.
All those broken bridges were scattered around him. Every step he took failed to nothing. A hundred memories flooded into his heart as his eyes looked behind him. His home, his mother and his brothers were all there waiting for him to return. Pictures from his past slowly stumbled up on his mind. Him as a child riding his bicycles. Alhua crying after that bomb raid, and his father saying goodbye to fight for that war he never came back from.
An ache escaped his heart and gripped it with the might of thunder. The music of failure seemed to be singing to his brain but every picture his hands had ever drawn seemed to be praying for his success. They needed him to grow and become the painter he wished to become. His eyes stared at all the new stones drowned in the river. They got their with his every new try to rebuild the bridge. Failure once again, he thought.
His dreams knocked at his heart and asked him to start again. The words of failure slowly disappeared. A prayer for his gods escaped his lips as he moved every new stone to the bridge. The evening sun went down on the other end of the sky and the darkness of the night settled in. It wrapped around him like a warm blanket, and the beauty of his future waltzed around him. The moon shined herself upon the boy’s little frame, and the new unbroken bridge welcomed her. His dreams danced in happiness as he crossed that bridge of life. A new life awaited him elsewhere.