Imminence
By Raghuram Godavarthi
Imagine the pain of a leaf, bearing upon its tip,
the very last drop of rain
is it the pain of separation?
or is it the last bit of pain suffered from carrying so many raindrops?
Imagine the creak of a door hinge, about to be shut for the day,
and locked up for the night
is it a sigh of relief?
or is it yet another gasp at being swung about all day?
Imagine, the thudding of a felled tree,
upon the unrelenting, hard ground
is that the final utterance of an unrewarded life?
or does the tree finally express its anguish at having to stand motionless all life long?
For voices never heard, for actions practiced only in shadows,
and for thoughts formed only within cerebral walls
there is but one release – Imminence
and such is the travesty therein!
the overwhelming cry of chaos, the chitter-chatter of change
drowns all other sounds in its crashing wave
none can ever truly distinguish
an utterance from anguish
relief, from disbelief
separation, from transportation
In the gushing wake of Imminence
life hereto, and hereafter, could very well just be
an empty box, devoid, desolate, disparate
The Not So Empty Boxes:
One by one, we moved each one of them. Carefully so as to not break or mishandle the contents of the boxes.
For as ordinary and dowdy they seem, they contained within them, a large chunk of our lives.
Like it or not, our whole lives can be packed in to boxes. With each packing and unpacking, comes reliving the moments, sipping nostalgia along with some tea, and telling, retelling stories. Tens of stories and many memories later, we had finished unpacking.
As I looked at the numerous empty boxes lying around, I couldn’t help but think, how they helped fill the entire house. They had transfered all thier wealth to the empty house, thus making it our home.
Empty boxes? I think not.
–Nivethitha Kumar
