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Posts Tagged ‘clue’

I sense a dark storm is looming over.

Someone told me that I should not be afraid

of all the tragedy impending.  Even if the winds

blow me empty at will, I should not cower.

There are intruders- those unwelcomed visitors

breaking and entering the skin I lived in.

 

I forgot the keys, my memory slips

down in the labyrinth of forgetting.

I search for clues, deciphering a code

among the pages in the book of days.

 

I misplaced the sign- “don’t disturb”

among the shards of broken plates,

of broken glasses in the kitchen.

Where did I put our picture frame?

 

I can only hear whispers from strangers

whose faces I have seen for the first time.

Ruling my house as if they’re kings and queens

breaching  a territory, our serfdom of privacy.

 

I blame these disrespectful marauders

for letting me swim deeper into the pool.

I got tangled in the maze,  finding myself.

Don’t they know it’s an abyss down here?

 

Don’t they know how it feels to get lost

sinking deeper among piles and boxes

of photographs, of letters, searching-

a faint remembrance of the two of us.

 

They keep on robbing me of something.

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There’s a suitcase in the hall.

And emptiness will soon occupy it.

Something which kept me immobile,

quite undecided to test the wind

or its aged leafless trees outside

 

where the silent pavement beckons

and my own shadow as a companion.

How should I, in the permanence of seasons

would not be keen to grasp the clues

that promises were never made to last?

 

I thought I could be strong enough.

I thought I would not have a glimpse

of that leathery box which collected

my yesterday’s dust of missed chances

that dried up in the passing of years.

 

I thought I could forget the barrenness

of autumn’s leaving another space

which I tried to fill with the leaves of days.

Un-withered, but soon became faded letters

that I will be keeping in this humble suitcase.

 

Memories of old coming back to me now.

I will turn the knob to open another door,

and walk into another painful journey

of beginnings. Never ending days catching

the falling leaves as remnants of moments.

 

And when the falling snow in the winter comes

and rest on the branches of those leafless trees,

like the way I carry the weight of my suitcase.

I will try picking up the pieces again and slowly

survive another night without the moon nor the stars.

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His muffled voice breaks

the long stretches of silence

while his hand guided

young and untrained hands

practicing calligraphy.

 

Watchful and demanding precision

of copied texts exacting translation.

As he unbuckles the leathery tome

of secrets in a wooden chest.

Tradition, theology and religion.

Diaries, recipes, scientific notations.

 

Inventories, census, receipts.

Readings of narratives and poetry,

astrology, proverbs and magic spells.

The volumes of letters, last wills,

songs and words of blessings.

 

Spending hours and hours sitting

among the piles of pages digging

for clues and answers to mysteries.

The labyrinth of a culture. A treasure.

Each of the fragile pages a wealth

weightier than silver and the gold.

 

Piecing each fragment in a mosaic

mapping an ancient civilization

long forgotten. He believed, it was

here  in his hands lies the fiber, sinew

and muscle of generations of man-

the society is ought to remember.

 

So he became a warrior, obsessed

with the written word wielding

weapons of passion and wisdom.

With his small army of juvenile scholars

continuing an unpopular legacy.

 

Waging the classic battle against time,

earth bugs, heat, rot and decay

slowly finding its way like marauders

pillaging the essence of our humanity

into oblivion and brink of extinction.

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The past are days

like pages in a book.

On the first few pages

you can’t figure out

what the story is all about. 

 

Prologue.

 

“There is a man struggling

to find his place in this world.

Had his share of hits and misses.

Of crossroads where-

it is hard to decide

which road to walk into, and

on which doors to knock.

Afraid, that somebody may not

be there to turn the knob.

And open up.”

 

If only, these eyes can pause reading

and stop for a while at these words

that almost made me yawn and sleep.

Insignificant hours of keeping on.

Hoping this story will not lead

into another unhappy ending.

 

“Why do we have to be serious

all the time?”

 

Don’t ask me. It’s your problem.

The questions still left

hanging in there, moments.

When pages stood unclear,

incomplete with the sentence.

Waiting for somebody

to knock the door. I’ll open up.

 

“Is that all?  Is that all?

Is that all there is to wait

and it all boils down to this?”

 

Tempted to return to the first few pages.

Back to the parts when I remember

breaking down halfway through a paragraph.

As if not knowing how did it start

somebody talking to me. It should have

been better not to have read at all.

No clues from the beginning.

 

And the countdown to the hours

remains. Finish reading parts

on the last chapter- I confront.

Today- no happy ending.

 

 

Epilogue.

 

“And fear creeps in like a mirror

he have to face everyday.

There was a time when he need

to jump into the pond of uncertainty.

Searching the man in his reality,

faced with nagging bouts of questions-

What’s next? What’s on the other side?

What’s the  future?”

 

I can’t figure out.

What this story is all about. 

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Either way, we will neglect

this guesswork.

Swimming in the stream

of people encapsulated

in their self-made walls.

Jammed in traffic

of clues and hints,

lip synching the same

old line of self-defense.

A justification

followed by explanations.

Why do we choose to stay

the same?

 

For you, love is

a crossword puzzle

deciphering codes

stitching words.

If words would say rightly

the true meaning from the heart.

Then, we don’t need

a second chance

to feel as if the world around us

stood still. It will only leave

a language that we

both understood eversince,

that day we met

for the first time.

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