Shrouded

Diary of a wanna be

Sometimes I look back
At the land left behind
Lord it's so rich.
So fertile
Black fecund soil six feet deep
Most anything could grow there
Or at least creep.

But I crossed that Creek
And I left behind
The fork that, would I
have taken the other path,
Led me to
Who knows what wonderlands
of an onion peel mind
Rich layers of lives in every rind,
But has now for ever
Been left behind.

Take me back
Lord to the then which seems,
like never ending time
And place, within a dream,
Where borders don't bleed decisions,
That change your very state
That small town locale
Where everyone
Was my friend.
The start days sometimes I wish,
That the date would just
Roll back and recede
And some things
Should never ever have to end.

Or happen again
In happiness
And roll each of us
To a more gracious place
Where success need not
Have to beg
For a paltry coin
In the cracked bowl
That lacks surfeit.

Wooden chips
Blank empty slices
Of fortune's failures
Time's cruelty daily dices.

I hope this chip chopped sovereign
Of my work and worth may remain
In your minds
My friends, my only audience
Brave days long ago blazed
But now
Only the empty shadows pain
Streaks of memories
Streaming rain,
Screaming silently,
One must stay sane.

I wanna be
That girl again,,
The whole world
To choose at my feet again
Anything that I want
To be,
Dear Lord,
This time I pray,
Earnestly,
That you
Focus me.

And thus signs off
the diaries of wanna be-s
They never are what they are,
But caught between the hours
And a private place
Only they can see.

I occupy a space,
I berate myself
For ever having brought about,
And every minute is another counted stitch
That I loop and lock
Into my steel warp shroud.

(c) Amrita Valan 2016