Tell Me No More of Enchanted Days

  I have been pretty disturbed lately. News of deaths and more deaths. Eagerly awaiting relatives or a close friend's family member to recover. As an empath, these things affect me a lot. Which is why I tend to escape into my own bubble where I feel safe.  As an empath, it is also in my nature to reach out and help others, try to take away some of their pain. But the boundaries lately have been blurring a lot. The problem with the times we live in, is the lack of communication. Never before in the history of humanity, have humans been so cut off from each other in such times of grief.  People who are going through these tragedies personally are numb and detached. They have seen their loved ones suffer and die alone, so it almost feels like a sin for them to ask for help. Everyone's struggling alone, and this is not going to serve us well in the long term. One such story that a friend shared with me affected me to such an extent that for two days, I kept to myself, asking questi

Sweat trickling down the back, River snakes flow, distract, In the fragile sand, like a quivering pulse Reminded of the salt that calls them. The foamy bubbles approach in anticipation,  Then retreat, teasing, leaving, Each time wanting more, This unquenchable thirst, Each time, wanting to wade further, Deeper, than the fear of drowning, In the eyes of the unknown. What if we all drown? Breaking the spell, nodding your head, And accepting, this raw, smoky smell, Calling like an old dream. You try to remember what you dreamt, You don't. But you know how it felt. Even though you never waded that deep. You know how it felt. The sound of desire, Booming far away like a gun. And the river snakes on your back, Find their way back to the endless sea.

  There is a place where two ends meet, In between the dead branches, And the hurried leaves, Across the rigid sky, In the ever changing clouds, Far away from broken nests, And rain soaked flowers, That melt under the muddy ground. There lies a gate to a secret garden, That no one wants to open. Only crickets and birds belong there. I think most people can't see it, Or they choose to dismiss it out. I sit there sometimes waiting  For seasons to change, in tired shoes And sweat on my brow. There is a place where beginnings meet. What begins must end, What ends must begin. I wait in between. I stick around.

 The city is closed, The bars have an eerie silence, Even the last stubs in the ashtray, Have been cleared out. There's no chatter in the hallways, Once where crowds used to throng. The lovers have disappeared from the parks. If you look carefully, you still won't find Any traces of their wistful sighs, Or their lingering looks. The eyes of the future have shut, Themselves to any arrivals or departures. The ice cream shop is not even cold. Cold is the opposite of hot, but Such contradictions have gone down The drain, seeped away into the sewage, Sent far away into the unknown sea. The colours have faded, no more Blues, blacks, greens or pinks. It is as if no one ever lived here. No one inhabited this vast, Wonderful, noisy, row of buildings, Of soccer fields, car parks,  Art galleries or food courts, Where you could fill your hungry soul With spicy broths and meat on the go. Where did everyone go? Did they vanish underground? Did the predictions make them flee? Did the fear of

 My shadow wants to walk, One step ahead. Always in a rush, Trying to reach everywhere, Every time. Even if my legs Feel like lead, my feet like two Iron balls, dragging on a rusted chain. It tells me to keep moving. Sometimes my eyes can't see anything Clearly; the mist of my failures, Loom in my vision, like a juggernaut, Blocking simple answers and explanations. My hands want to reach out, but I Pull in my fingers and make a fist. My mouth wants to say so much, But my tongue is clipped, like An old file, papers and footnotes, Held together to make sense  Of all that goes wrong and be warned. Sometimes the yellow papers Slip out and lie in a heap On the floor, because there is way too much That can not be held in all the time. But my shadow doesn't like the burdens I carry around. It mocks my existence. I beg, please slow down. I will Listen to you and all that you want returned, But give me time to gather my thoughts. My shadow says, I'm here now. There is so much to be