The prompt given by the official NaPoWriMo site: A poem of gifts and joy.
Well, here we are. I don’t know about joy, but this poem definitely talks about gifts, only… from a very unconventional perspective.
ARTIFACT FROM THE PAST
Long years have grown twixt the wedge of days
When last my fingers held this book.
These traceries then were scribbles, yet now,
in trivial traces of time, lie answers.
Believe – the calligraphy in the first page cautioned.
I stared as hope and hesitation meld.
Then escaped a sigh, upsetting the dust,
That lay about its brown rimmed frays.
Now eager fingers fumbled unhastened
Expectant to feel another echo unwind.
What distant treasures misplaced unknowingly,
These trifles from the past once more present!
Most parchments carry the jet black ink
That endlessly deep into its heart collapse –
Or gyres outwards from a heated core-
Depends on whether you desire to behold
The intense focus or a gradual unfold.
But the fragrant flow of feelings unbounded
From yonder days’ are the gifts I seek
From these spirals tattooed upon a blank canvas.
I wondered when I would discry
Amidst the motley of mended hues
A neat array of expressive chaos-
Verses fettered from a fleeting thought.
I travail the tunnels of words that enshrug
The trenches to where the thoughlings lay.
As I these poem prizes unwrap,
The visible linearity of time warps
For now I glimpse a bygone mind.
Now those slovenly spilled on these pages
Fallen in disarray, too relieved to care.
The effervescent ideas that raged the mind
Imploring to escape into expressions.
Now a stale slate of art these live,
Their former glory bound in a book.
But rekindled by the heat of gone years,
Once more they flicker to evoke a muse.
So gift me these former expressions that I
can burnish anew with moulded musings.
Hidden in the harlequin of energy
That wrought a passion into skill,
Like neglected graffiti on unseen scaffolds
Mirroring the desperation that screams
silently the sigh of prayers unheard.
Forgotten now, I trace my eyes
Over what once were dire desires.
Ah, these little marks in guise of art
Reveal the depths of who she was-
The girl who once I called myself
Who now buried in memory’s grave
Mayhaps by now, her impression too morphed,
I uncover once more, what once was.
These prayers it seems, haven’t been gifted,
Yet the wheel of time recounts them back
As answers to prayers now nestling within –
To show me that all was impermanent,
To me show me the metamorphosis I’ve endured.
Now the pages I’ve ceased to rustle
As impalpable emotions freeze my form.
In the unfolding of a few moments’ time,
An accidental encounter with an artifact has
Inspired me to believe that answers can be sought
Amidst a spiral of unexpected expressions
Where prayers disguised as verses speak,
If only you seek to acquire their gifts.
I am inviting you all to join me in this venture. Use the prompt given above to craft your own verses.
And oh, be sure to tag me.
© 2019 Sahana Narendran