The Moon is me

The Sun inspires and speaks of brightness and ambition but I am always drawn to the Moon because of its transient quality and the ability to shine through the darkness. I see in it a reflection of human life – the indomitable spirit to attain glory even when destined to cyclic highs and lows. The Moon is me; it is each one of us. Here is an ode to resilience.

Moon rising from behind the clouds. Image generated using dream.ai.

In the swirling, shifting caramel of dawn
Goodbyes of the Full Moon awaken me
With gentle caresses; in silver disguise
Strings of glimmer blaze past the drapes
In to a space where sleep plays truant
Yet, again.

Moonstruck, I gaze at the sparkly face
Shimmering in the celestial expanse
My friend of many slumberless nights
I wonder how you waltz through it all –
The waxing and waning, here today
Unseen tomorrow!

Do you tremble when pieces dissolve
Or when the dark side overtakes you
How do you tiptoe through desolate fear?
Sailing on stormy clouds; only to evolve
From Night’s blue veil, in splendor whole
Perfection galore!

Amazed, I ponder over your dire destiny
Patiently cradling oblivion and agony
You’ve known fawning painters, poets;
How do you concede to Time’s sly games
Embracing both radiance and gray shades
Always with eternal grace!

The stories they told!

Writers often lament writer’s block and procrastination as colossal hurdles to a regular writing practice. While both hold a genuine place in the writers’ list of woes, it is my experience that nothing is a bigger enemy of the creative journey than ill-disposed mental health. One can create masterpieces in sorrow and carve out brilliant art in happiness but it is hard to get a grip on artistic pursuits when one is stressed or anxious. 

A stack of books and an open notebook

Since mid-November 2022 until now I have been struggling – first with a long spell of flu that lasted for a month and a half. Then, somewhere during this difficult time, debilitating worry and paranoia found their way into my life. I was trapped in a maze of repetitive thoughts and stress-induced negativity. I tried many things to heal my mind but it was a lonely journey.

The biggest casualty of my mental ill-health was my poetry. I realize how delicate a device poetry is. It demands total dedication. A disrupted mental frame cannot do justice to the pursuits of the poet. 

One of the tools recommended for mindfulness and healing is journaling. I do vouch for its benefits but that is a post for another day. What I discovered amidst these trials was that for me story writing is closer to journaling.

As my physical health gradually recovered after Christmas, I came across the Penfluenza 3.0 contest by WriteFluence. I decided to start writing because the theme of Ritual called out to me. Each day, I poured a lot of love and care into my draft. It slowly became a healthy diversion. My mind would be at ease at least in those crafting moments. The story itself was therapeutic.

My efforts were worthwhile because when the contest results were declared, I was glad to know that my short story was one of the winning entries. Today, I received a heartwarming message that the anthology that contains my short story is now available for purchase. Read about The Selection of a Sacred Strawberry.

Meanwhile, I tried to go back to my favorite daily activity of writing for poetry prompts. It didn’t happen. Thoughts arrived wrapped in imagery but the words wouldn’t manifest. I felt for my forsaken blog but when you are broken, you can’t create a piece that is as fragile as poetry. Short story, in my case, was the sturdier sibling of the poem!

This weekend, I returned to my blog to publish a book review. Some words formed and then they started to string together. I am not sure if I will be able to write frequently because unresolved issues still camp in my mind space. But I am trying – each day – to let go of what I cannot control and to get a grip on the things I can create.

As I try to recover, sharing what I wrote last night:

All through the days so cold
I wanted to write
But the words had died
Slithering away in a whirlpool
Of frantic anxiety;
When they knocked at my door
I struggled to make sense
Of the jumbled letters.

I stood at the threshold
Surrounded by the bellows of
Unrelenting stress and misery
I could barely stay afloat
Wallowing in fear and self-pity,
So, I shut them all out –
Now no one will ever know
The stories those words told!

Just life

#MMPoetryBattle prompt is: AMALGAM⚔️

The sun melts into the horizon
Amalgam of light and darkness
Where the lines are blurred
Between paradise and hell
Consumed by the ocean
Glitter hues of golden days
Now wrapped in tempests
Bellowing over troubled waters
Such is life – Moments of delight
Washed away by turbulent tides

Also features on #MMPoetryBattle week of Aug 12 highlights, with a couple of different words to meet the Tweet character limit: https://jdgreysonwrites.medium.com/poetry-battle-highlights-a945024a33e6

The butterfly

I have a corner seat in my office where I can lift the blinds from the tall glass window and glance outside. When I am writing and can’t find the right word or tone, or even mood, I just gaze outside or stand next to the glass trying to capture inspiration from a tiny piece of concrete- ensnared Universe.

When I lifted the blinds this morning, I saw a yellow butterfly in a small manicured green patch. Throughout the day I shivered in the office air conditioning while admiring the blue sky and the cotton candy clouds, imagining it to be a pleasant winter morning. The truth is after a week of regular Monsoon rainfall, the sun was back with vengeance. The washed sunlight was extremely harsh outside. I felt sad for the yellow helmet-clad cleaning and construction guys. Somehow, their work never seems to end.

The sun beat down upon them as they shoveled through their assigned chores. I wonder if they saw the butterfly, or the sky, or the white cloud drifting by. All I could do was sigh, return to my desk to work, and pay my taxes so that the world still goes around, and there is always a patch of grass that needs to be manicured. Such is life!

Fate lines

#FromOneLine

If I could count
The delicate lines
Offshoots and roots
Hidden in my palms;
Marking the map
Of my destiny
I may comprehend,
The forks and breaks
That twist of my fate
Conspiring to create
Hard wins and fails
In this medley of life
On a rollercoaster ride

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