This is a poem I wrote back in June, but never got a chance to share it on my blog as it was still in the works. Enjoy!
Here I am,
In this crowded playground
Waiting, searching for my salvation
I hear the tinkling of laughter ringing in my ears –
I walk towards the sounds as it gets louder and louder,
Until it roars like the howling winds, deafening me
I bow my head and begin to cry
Because they do not see me – they never see me
I feel my tiny feet sinking into a puddle of sand
It splashes like velvet over my toes
And fuses to my skin like glutinous lust
My glance, my touch means nothing to it
For sometimes it stings, while other times it hurts
But they tell me it is part of life – the sting; the pain!
It exists in this world –
soundless, and odourless,
I envision myself sitting in an empty sandbox
Amidst the crowd and chaos
I open my mouth to speak, to have my voice heard
But they do not hear me – they never hear me
I feel my body slowly sinking into that ocean of cupidity
I am almost half buried!
Praying, hoping that I will be saved;
Before I meet my untimely demise!
Indeed I am all alone, in this sandbox of life
I watch them, as they come and go,
Like herds of sheep, over and over again
From children to friends to lovers
Leaving monuments and sand castles
Some come and stay a while
While others quickly grow bored and leave
But it does not matter to me
For they do not touch me – they never touch me
I patiently wait for him to seek me
My beloved – the who sees me, hears me, touches me,
And breathes new life into my divested essence!
He shall find me, buried forlornly in that deserted sandbox,
Intertwining our fingers and our gazes
He shall rescue me, lifting me out of that cold, dark bleakness
His soft lips will kiss the black strands of my hair
As I feel myself seep into his warm skin
We will create our own haven,
Breaking every rule, every boundary
That confines us to these suffocating boxes!
And as we continue to survive in this cruel sandbox of life
Many will come and go, leaving venomous scars
And broken contracts,
Yet their filthy venom will never outshine us!
And as we grow old together, the sandbox will begin to rot
For it no longer needs to hold form,
But at least this much is true:
We will have discovered serenity
© June 16, 2012