“Falling upwards. Daybreak. Uncrash. Rolling down uphill. Apple tree. Cherry tree. Grapevine. Grape wine. Dark chocolate. 75% cocoa. Chocolate. Fruers and ambitions.”

Just came across the above note saved as a draft on my phone. Sigh. Sometimes I wish I could understand myself.

On holding on to yourself

our greatness, we tuck it away
in silent corners of our minds, our homes
the last drawer on the lowest shelf of that
abandoned cupboard

what makes us extraordinary
what makes you, you
what makes me, me
why are we so ashamed?

and mediocrity, you know, that’s what is celebrated
so we hang those degrees and certificates in sparkling golden frames
keep the awards on our desks
with the fully-inflated ego of a child looking for the next pat on the back

and water shapes up rocks oh so gradually
sand withers away carefully, to never be noticed
stories get written slowly, silently
sometimes even forgetting their own authors

so hold on, hold on my friend
hold on dearly to the fact
that you’re more than just that.

The Kingfisher

A certain woodpecker went pecking away at the trees, constantly wondering why she just couldn’t do it. The other woodpeckers laughed at her, and she pecked harder and harder. She kept hurting herself.

Till she just couldn’t take it anymore. She went and sat by a lake, looking down, wanting to just jump in and drown and give it all away.

At that moment, she happened to see her reflection. As it turned out, she wasn’t a woodpecker in the first place! She was tinier than a woodpecker. And she had beautiful blue feathers, streaked with green and yellow and orange. She was a kingfisher.

Wow, she thought to herself. She never knew that. As if to try things out, she rose to the air, dove into the lake in one quick swoop, and landed on the other side with a fish in her beak.

She probably wasn’t as good at this as the other kingfishers, but this came to her easy. She’d have to make up for all these years of lack of fishing practice, and she’d also have to take care of all the wounds caused during woodpecking. There was work to be done, she had no time to lose, and she had to get to it, quick.

Things were going to be much easier from now on, she thought. So much, so much easier. And so they were.

She never knew life could be this simple.

Seashell

He picked up the phone and I picked up a seashell

And came to him the crashing waves

The ocean mist, so hard to resist

And the silence of the setting sun.

 

He gasped, “Why is it, why is it

That whenever I speak to you, I hear

The notes of the sea, the whispering of a tree

Or the gentle hooves of reindeer?”

 

“Are you always traversing a forest?” he asked,

“Or dancing on the seashore

Or lying back on hay, or, shall I dare say

Flying through blue’s entire lure?”

 

“No,” I smiled,

“This is where I live.”