What am I, you ask?

I come in abundance when I am freely given

But I  whither away when I am withheld.

I grow beyond space and time when I am true

But I shrink to nothingness when I am not.

I light up the world with colour and light

I warm up your heart and feed your soul.

I am what everyone yearns for, searches for,

Yet fears losing.

Some say the risk of finding me is too great,

For I am difficult to keep.

But there in itself lies the risk.

For without finding me, life is not worth its moments.

Find me, nourish me, respect me, keep me.

Let me guide the way for you.

All you need to do is accept me and where others fail to do so,

Teach them, forgive them but do not let me go. 

Hold my hand and I will keep your heart and path alight.

With this light you will never lose your way.

I am Love.

A giant blanket once covered the entire earth. It became known as the fabric of animation, a common material shared among every lifeform to this day. The fabric is rather fluid in attitude, cascading from one physical form to another, all the while remaining ever present over the earth. There was once an age when this fabric was mellifluously approachable, and a panglossian landloper with a cookie cutter in the palm of his hand boldly came forth. His credence of needing to know about the fabric was his nonce, and he asked the material where to find the four edges of the giant piece of fabric. Long before the pandiculation of animation began, there was a fugacious moment of introduction between the fabric and the earth and therein lies its first edge. However, the fabric had been ubiquitous for so long that it had forgotten the place of provenance.

Intrigued with the opportunity of discovery, the landloper prepared himself to pursue the first edge. However, the inquiry of the remaining three edges remained and again he asked where to seek such things. Knowing that the answer to such a question is profusely recondite, the fabric spoke in a rudimentary manner on behalf of the next two edges. One edge was spoken of in terms of law and mauka, and the other muttered was of lacustrine and motherhood. As for the remaining edge, the fabric predicted that a response would quickly transform the bonhomie landloper into a mawkish milquetoast within the span of a sentence. However, a vow of silence was too cruel for the sweet fabric. Instead, the material’s voice congregated at the zenith of the earth to whisper the words of the whereabouts of the last edge; words that would only reach the eager ears of the landloper in death. Unaware of the last response, the lad set out on his quest to locate the four edges.

The quest had become increasingly unsuccessful by the time the landloper’s first lifespan came to an end. However he had never parted with the cookie cutter and ever determined and optimistic, he began his search again after recreating himself using the fabric. He continuously searched throughout his cycles, gaining more insight with every attempt. But having never died, he will not know of the last edge until he gives up his search completely.

There are no hordes admiring,

no scroll of deeds or backs hunching

over typewriters, stitching tales

of triumph in your honor.

For you the spiders tick in empty

halls of dusty web. Echoes of unnoticed

time passing. But you, Oh Common Man,

hero of the dead, are celebrated by shadows

and bats and moonlight falling silent.

Ancient giants bowing disembodied thoughts

to the dirt in which your feet still echo

in nonexistent memories.

Slayer of monsters at midnight.

Keeper of peace in infant imaginations.

Healer of superficial cuts, slaying dragons

before they enter the castle of a child's heart.

These are the wars all the statued generals

wish they'd fought. Yours is the silence

They will never have.

More noble than intentions.

But I'll receive the gratitude

for all the failed wickedness,

and I'll enjoy it in a pool of guilt.

My heart is twisted and malicious

and unlucky. You say I never

have anything bad to say, but

it's due to overly ambitious efforts,

no good under pressure.

I wrestle with angels and devils

get caught in the crossfire. Thanks

for the medal, I'll accept it out of spite.

You love me for my goodness,

I confess, it's due to a lack of effort.

Rain falls like poetry.

The syllable of a droplet

Announced on the space

Where my hands should be.

There is an intrusive light

From the gutter below

Allowing me to outline

The moment you look away.

We've walked this road

For no reason;

This rancid road

that lures our feet

In different directions. 

Escape to this

Vast forest

Shedding leafy beds

Where peace

Is a mere nudge

Where suns

Simply go to set

Joining with your skin

I submit my all to you

On ancient roots of trees

As curious

Wildlife eyes

Track the sky

I'll edge you through

Steep valleys of silk

Slowly pulling

Circling

Rocking your urge

Mounting your ache

All of you divinely

Exclusively adored

I'll take you to vibrating

Volcanic peaks

Every high you've ever been

You'll feel them all

Within me

Shower off in the rain

Birds will join

In the same

To fly along like me

Once you're long gone

When I'll continue

Linger strong

Sensuously my own

Escaping to the next

Lost soul whose alone

i sit down on a bench under the tree,

holding a book in one hand,

a cup of tea in the other.

i gaze up at the beautiful scenery,

wondering why it’s my first time here.

i watch the kids play and run and jump

and wish i could join them.

oh how awkward it would be;

one adult and many kids playing together.

how scared they would be

if a stranger approached them

and asked to join them in their games.

“grown ups are not supposed to play,” one of them would mutter,

and i wouldn’t know how to respond.

“it’s our bodies that age. our souls don’t,” i would answer back,

secretly doubting the words that had just come out of my mouth.

it’s a lie;

our souls have grown old.

we lost our sense of wonder.

we lost our playful nature.

we follow rules.

we have stopped our minds from painting pictures of unfamiliar worlds.

i wish i could have traveled as a child

to a land

where our souls would stay the same.

our brain would generate a dozen questions per hour.

our hearts were bigger than the earth.

our eyes twinkled like the brightest stars.

if only.