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.
The Bibliophile
Posted in Art Scene, Books, Current Affairs, Film, Literature, Memoirs, Philosophy, Poetry, Politics, Religion, Science, Social Commentary, Society, Travel, tagged ancient, answer, army, astrology, battle, belief, bibliophile, blessing, book, break, brink, buckle, bug, calligraphy, census, chest, civilization, classic, clue, commentary, conservation, continuing, copy, culture, decay, demand, diary, earth, essence, exact, extinction, fiber, find, forgotten, fragile, fragment, generation, gold, guide, hand, heat, hours, humanity, inventory, juvenile, labyrinth, last will, leather, legacy, letter, long, magic, man, map, marauder, mosaic, muffle, muscle, mystery, narrative, notations, oblivion, pages, passion, piece, piles, pillage, poem, poetry, practice, precision, proverb, reading, receipt, recipe, religion, remembrance, rot, scholar, Science, secret, silence, silver, sinew, slow, small, Society, song, spell, spending, stretch, text, theology, time, tome, tradition, training, translation, treasure, unpopular, voice, volume, wage, warrior, watch, wealth, weapon, weight, wield, wisdom, wood, word, words, written, young on March 4, 2011| 16 Comments »
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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