Poornima Manco

Author

free form

Hurt

by

 

There is a world of hurt

behind those eyes,

unshed words

that threaten to spill over

 

When did we lose each other

to misunderstandings

misapprehensions

mistakes?

 

How has what should be love

transformed

into anger, recrimination,

and regret?

 

Is there no way back?

Is there no way to bridge

this chasm between

what used to be ‘us’

and what is

‘you’ and ‘me’ now?

 

Perhaps a word,

an acknowledgment,

an understanding

could mend

that which seems irreparable right now

 

Perhaps that word is ‘sorry’

perhaps it is

love.

 

 

So little

by

There was a time

When every word

That dropped from your lips

Was a little bit of heaven

 

When your presence

In this world

Was enough

To guarantee happiness

 

There was a time

When I waited

Breathlessly

For you to enter a room

 

But that was before

I knew

How little

I meant to you

 

There was a time

When I changed myself

To be

More like you

 

When all that mattered

Was your approval

Your smile

Your glance

 

There was a time

When everyone else

Paled into insignificance

Beside you

 

But that was before

I knew

How little

I meant to you

 

Today I move on

Without looking back

Without shedding another tear

Over a wasted love

 

Now there are only

Memories that fade

Sepia-toned

Into the recesses of my mind

 

Here I stand

A little broken

A lot stronger

Much much wiser

 

For if love

Only meant

Worshipping at your altar

Then you are no God to me

 

Because

Your arrogance

Your ignorance

Your indifference

 

Merely curdled

All that was

Warm loving

And good

 

As I walk away

From those wasted years

Of adoration

I realise…

 

You matter so little to me now.

*********************************

Invisible

by

Am I invisible

Because I am old?

Does my grey hair, my wrinkles, my painful joints

Deny me the wisdom of my years?

 

When I was young

You saw me

My hair was like spun gold

My body agile, fertile

 

But my mind was impetuous

Uninformed

Feckless

Reckless

 

Yet, housed as it was

In that body

You listened

You heard

 

Now I know

So much more

Life has taught me

Patience, gratitude, forbearance

 

I could tell you to

Slow down

Take a breath

Think a bit

 

That life is

Accumulated

Through moments that pass

Much too quickly

 

That being present

For yourself

For those you love

Is the most important task

 

That sometimes difficult days

Are given to us as an exam

To teach and test

And pass we will

 

That boredom is

The providence

Of the very fortunate

As is leisure

 

That failure

Is far better

More virtuous

Than regret

 

Would you listen though?

Or, would my words

Pass through you

Like milk through a sieve

 

Has age no meaning

Years no gravitas

Experience no value

Sagacity no usefulness?

 

Because here I sit

In a crowd

Of young ones

And no one hears my voice.

Change

by

 

Where are your vanities now

Where is the makeup, the hairspray, the nail varnish

Where is the tie, the suit, the briefcase stuffed with papers

 

Why do you sleep past noon

And stay up past midnight

Why do you drink every day

And turn away from the mirror

 

Why does the car sit unused

And the holiday brochures unread

Why are you wearied by the sight of your wife

Why do you long for the day your husband returns to work

 

Why do your children hide in their rooms

Talking only to their friends

Refusing to meet or mingle

With those that birthed them

 

Who walks past you now

Keeping his distance

Head bowed, eyes averted

A glance: guilty or accusing

 

When your home seems a prison

Your existence a question

Your enemy invisible

Your future uncertain

 

Why do the birds sing their evensong louder

Why does the sky seem brighter

The air clearer

The moon larger

 

How is the land

So fecund

Thriving, as though

Someone loosened the chokehold

 

Why does distance suddenly seem to expand

And your world shrink

Why does a cough or a sneeze seem scarier

Than the thought of growing old

 

Can the hollow men and women of our age

Change

Will they learn

Or

Is it all

A wasted effort

Nature’s last attempt

To show, to teach, to amend?