Bubble

float.

take my joy with you;

in pink and blue,

and then green-

oblivious to trees

till they kill you. 

float, dearest

and dare,

because there is

nothing else that you know. 

twirl, and multiply,

till life shatters into rain.

sparkling in destruction-

ephemeral soap child,

thoughtless and light,

if sorrow touches you,

it has only ever left you

brighter.

so dazzle, so soar,

take my weight when you fly,

and greet the sun-

but promise,

to come back to me

alone, 

i can wait-

i will wait, 

there is nothing else

i have known.

---

-samjam

This is the longest I've sat on a poem. When I edit, I read the same poem so many times, and make such small, almost neurotic changes- sometimes- that I completely lose the capability of seeing the imagery I initially envisioned in writing. In turn, I doubt if the poem is bad in itself and lacks imagery, or if I've gone numb.

When I ask my friends to review or read, they seldom have comments or suggestions. They are encouraging but I reckon I need a mentor of sorts, someone to be harsh and keep me disciplined. (This comes after my read of The Second Sex, thanks for the call out @Simone)

On 14 January, I pulled up to the terrace in Chennai, and went ham with a long green bottle of bubbles. I thought the lightness of the soap circles and the heaviness of my heart were a good combination for poetry. So there's that.

Thanks for being here,

Toodles!

-Nishant Aneja (pexels.com)