Paranoid and bitter? Poem

A Tribute to Nightbirde*

I remember back then

how you used to come

hang on to my every word and every poem

You and you and you

and you and you and you

I was the stars to your moon

My poems the sun to your sunflowers

I was the one you could practice heliotropism on

Then when you thought that you had arrived

Your visits became few and finally none

You said you are not a poet, or your silence did, to me

I am bigger than you now, it said, I know it all

I watched you try to remove the ground beneath my feet

Unable to feel hurt, or anything

The Krishna whom you felt that you could give a bhashan to

The Drona whose thumb and forefinger you wanted to remove

The one who was just an inn on your way to your destiny

Or cut down to size, to step into my shoes

I was busy watching the ants in the anthills

The anthills in the savannahs and not the cities

You did not know of people like Nightbirde

In comparison with whom you would never become anything

As you did not have the same amount of humility

People whom I watched, the tears streaming down my face

The real thing, whether successful or not

Fighting insuperable odds and able to go on

To sing, to dance, to write poems to fight, to live

To hope, to have faith, to love, with the courage to go on alone

I did not know them and they did not know me

But we were kin and wing to wing flew in the unknown, lost

"It's ok, it's ok, it's ok," was our song

"To be among the lost," and soar, vast, "sometimes".

To burn a hundred poems and still be strong

To never look back, and have nothing to look forward to

to break the yellow lights and know it is only you you lied to

"It's ok, it's ok, it's ok", you see

"To be among the lost", and not even soar**, "sometimes."

*Everything in this poem may be wrong. (ref. to Richard Bach's Illusions)

** have a golden buzzer moment

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