• navoneil 23w


    The ground beneath my feet is sand.
    Don't worry.
    It's not the shifting kind,
    Not the giving-way kind,
    Not even the sucking-in quagmire kind.
    All that's just in your mind.
    This is still only me -
    My mind and its mirror image
    Heavy with ornate fears from past lives
    Hidden in sweet metaphors
    Cloaked in heat
    That burns thoughts into wax.
    Misshapen sculptures like spent candles
    From past Diwalis
    Hug balcony railings like memories.
    This ground, this sand is not time.
    Don't worry. It won't turn clockwise
    And I won't fall to the ground
    Trying to keep pace,
    Unable to look in the eye
    Its minute grains.
    This ground is like land,
    Solidly certain of its gravity.
    You may call it a mirror
    But I see only shadows.
    Some of them are grey,
    And I wonder
    How many suns must scorch the sky
    That I burn so much
    On its edge
    Where I stand.
    I wish I could write plainly
    But I doubt my memories would feel at ease
    In my rhymes.
    So this is all the fever I can gift
    As I simmer hopelessly.