Tuesday, 29 December 2015

Another Year, Another Ode

The past has been written
With an unforgiving, blatant ink
That flows like the Nile
Amidst sands of yore
And mounds of several misty yesterdays
That were sometimes happy,
And other times upsetting,
Sometimes remarkable and celebratory,
And other times, uneventfully bleak.

The past has been written 
By a familiar hand 
That holds the pen with a great reverence,
Because it writes the story of a life-
One year at a time,
Taking each word as it flows
And assumes a shape that destiny shall harbor
In her mysterious waters
While she hides the next sentence
Behind ships that have sailed
Into a crimson sunset
That smiles warmly at all who look at it.

The future remains unwritten-
An empty book
That smells of freshness and possibilities,
Of joy and friendship,
Of family and togetherness,
And that fragrant sweetness 
That only emanates from a deep, stark love
That is both visceral and tangible.
Like the gods that we worship,
Taking every shape imaginable, 
And yet being the invisible presence
That defines the existence of this poet-
Not a glaring declaration
But an indelible tattoo of the one name
That makes all the difference.

My future belongs to you, love.

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