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i.
My bed's starting to feel
like the deep blue ocean
I once painted with my fingers
on the ceiling of my room, with acrylic
that is beginning to chip off
from the sides
with time
and much like it.
ii.
My pillow is my tide
except it doesn't offer
any sense
of the usual temporality
expected of these brilliant forces
of nature.
It leads me further
into the vast unknown
of my Monday, Thursday, Sunday blues
of my desolate mind that wanders off every night
and accounts for nothing
beyond the erratic
waves of the now.
In search of an island of hope.
only to be trapped into an
endless bermuda
of its own creation
as I spiral down and struggle
to untangle
the last speck of my illusionary certainty
and all of
my fabricated reality
from the grip of another boundless, gaping unknown
over my head
looking down upon me
almost nonchalantly
passing a friendly smirk.
iii.
A happy family nests on my window pane
the littlest members knocking the glass playfully
with their tiny, shiny yellow beaks
lifting me like the waves did
with their wings and steady squeaking.
a gush of tranquility
seems to gingerly
find its path
in the deep blues and purples
of my prominent
snarling veins
mixing its aquamarine hues
with mine.
iv.
I never learned to swim
beyond rudimentary floating
nor to dislike the ocean, for that matter,
or its splendid enormity.
v.
I resolve to close my eyes
and sway like the soft, autumn feather
drifting with
the gentle flow
aimlessly, for yet another night
secretly hoping to be
found
this time
or to simply land onto what is
concrete
my island of hope.
vi.
"Come what may", I say
"won't we all be carried away, someday?"
I try to equip myself
with the unanticipated
(hasn't it always been that way?)
to stay afloat
for as long as it might take
on my snug ocean bed.
vii.
The sound of the calm
before the rising storm
resonates well within me
this time, however, I shut my door
clumsily rolling up
the washed out ends
of my baby pink flannel
upto knee length, allowing myself
to set foot, inch by inch
to drench
& focus on my sound,
balmy breathing
amidst the tender dance of the
ocean, pulsating
in
with
for me.
viii.
Today I will be the third force of nature
to be reckoned with
my pillow might take me
by the hand, only to bid me adieu-
like a parting parent, silently
whispering, "be back soon
from your precarious journey."
I will love
my ocean bed, all the same, nonetheless
for it embraces me
so lovingly, morning after the other,
night after night
washing off
all of my yesterdays
offering whatever little calm & comfort
it can
in a world that
often refuses to.
I found my island of hope.
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