The Brave Pedestrian

I have passed this way before And nostalgia grips me now Asks me to seek out old haunts Revisit old friends Peer into unknown faces Gaze into their eyes for a mark of familiarity Perchance to say, or to hear, “ I know you, although you Have forgotten me. We have met before And loved When you were someone else And I had a different face… “ And this, my long-lost friend… This is where you sorrowed For your many losses And we shed our tears with you, for you. “ See these trees that have grown so tall Indifferent to your existence or mine… We watered them together In a bygone age When they were saplings. By giving them our tears We gave them life. “ And these stone walls still echo Our whispers, our laughter Yours and mine. The dusty silences still hold Our memories frozen in time Although you have forgotten.” Nostalgia… Memories that are not quite memories But only a place in the mind where memories used to live… ...

It is half filled And it remains only half filled No matter what I achieve Or acquire. It is half empty And it remains only half empty No matter what I fail at doing Or what I lose. (Ah! But this cup feels fuller when I give And when I’m given. And it feels a little more empty When I withhold Or when someone withholds from me!) I keep running everyday Like a rat on a treadmill Hoping that somehow I shall fill my cup to the brim And dance in ecstasy with the gods. I live in the fear that Some act or failure to act Will spill my cup And leave me dying of thirst – A meaningless creature in the desert of existence. Truth is, The cup of this mind that I inhabit Can never be fuller than it is now Nor can it ever be drained. I know this. I’ve known all along... But what to do? The itch of desire The ache of anxiety Demands a response, demands action, Not thoughtfulness, Not wisdom.