The Year of The Wind

We lay close to each other,
Listening to some cool jazz,
Tuning into abstract states
Of being. Our hearts played
To the tunes our minds
Could not keep up with.

Outside, little life hovered;
humans jubilated, re-living,
The death of a Son of Glory.

A year later, the sheets are cold,
My feet are warm, tangled
In yours, our hands are moist
On each other, our lips are wet,
Sharing love, slipping desire
Over desire—devouring hearts;
Flesh losing power over self.

It is stuffy outside; wet soil
Now reeks of death—how pungent!
The dark homes are quiet at midnight;
The eve of the day of the Son of Glory.

Outside, thump death’s massive feet.
Calendars bear marks of graves;
Humans are afraid, some are tired
Of waiting for the end—they seek it.
The earth is sore; our mother aches,
As man falls, man rises, man throws
Himself off a cliff, yet man,
Is mortal and his choices are final.

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Undeniably, this has been a difficult time to live as death takes—we have lost so many, yet this cloud so dark still hovers over us. Many welcomed the new year with love and joy; many could not get to today.

Amidst the blackness, we have light within—we can look beyond the haze, we can win back our lives, rediscover ourselves, become something new. It is beautiful to be human, to be able to feel.

We can let go of the pain we carry, the weight of our losses, and nurture growth of love and happiness. We can stop fighting each other and strive to make one another better. Life does not have to be a competition—of the things this year has proven, material possessions will fail us; our values mean, among more, the beginning or the end.

Wherever you are, whatever you will be doing, I wish you happiness; look at your hands and may your heart fill with joy, with love, with peace. I wish you the best in life.

Merry Christmas!

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Photo by Linford Miles on Unsplash