The Gift of Gray

We tend to think of being gifted in black-and-white terms,
The artists or the athletes, or perhaps the academics. But perhaps
We too often overlook the quieter gift, the gift of gray:
The heart-centered ones. They may be easy to miss, but once found,
Light illuminates from their chests in the most tender
And comforting glow. They are the ones, perhaps, with their heads
Bowed downs over books and journals, or smiling to themselves
At the sound of a songbird. They are the ones, perhaps,
With few friends, but holding those precious loved ones dear.
Tears fall easily onto their cheeks, in the same way joy comes easily
At the sight of a dog or the way a leaf falls onto the ground.
Pressure might shake them, the noise from the world might
Upset them; perhaps they are not the straight A students,
The societal success stories, the gold medal-winners,
But oh, how they feel, how they try, how they love.
Perhaps they are the nurses working long hours,
Breaking their backs to help heal, or the counselor who tries
Because they, too, have been there. Perhaps they are the story-tellers,
Or the people-watchers, or the volunteers who give their time
Without recognition. Perhaps they are the mothers, or the fathers,
Or the uncles and aunts who have no children of their own
But would take a bullet for their nieces and nephews.
Perhaps they are the ones who take the time for self-care,
Perhaps they are the ones filled with the most self-doubt.
The heart-centered ones may be easy to miss, but once found,
Light illuminates from their chests in the most tender
And comforting glow, as they touch the world with quiet devotion.

Untitled

Something shifted in me during those summer months - 

Maybe from the sun-peppered waves of the Caribbean Sea,

The flesh of papaya, the yellow fibers of mango stuck in teeth,

Or the sincerity and depth of his horizon-blue eyes -

And it stripped away my layers, left me bare and reduced to nothing

But the unconditional love at my core. And from this place

I will rebuild, restore and re-nourish my life until each day

Lifts with heart-song and is streaked with summer’s ease.

Morpho

In my mind, today is reminiscent of

Translucent-blue morpho butterflies,

The way their wings madly beat

Low vibrations into the air. I am

Aimless, wandering without purpose,

Lonely and seeking. Give me hope,

I tilt my head to the sky, my prayers

Also vibrations, transient and fleeting.

Deer

This afternoon, I went for a walk, repetitively counting my sufferings

Like prayer beads, one-by-one. Not noticing the chilled air and sunshine,

My footsteps quickened - hurried, little rivers rushing - until something

Called out to me, caught me from the corner of my eye: a small and lone

Deer. A child, perhaps? Where was its mother? The sweet, little body

Paused, I slowed my walking, and we peered into each other’s eyes

From a safe distance across the frostbitten lawn. Something in me resolved -

My sorrow still weighed heavy, yet it didn’t seem so important anymore.

I carried on, my footsteps easing into a gentle drum-beat, and I began

To notice the robins, the white berries, the way my exhale curled in the air.

Opening the Curtains

Just wait; when it overwhelms you, just wait.

Let yourself go to sleep, then greet another day -

Even if the curtains still have to be drawn closed -

And just wait, because these thoughts will come

And go like water brushing against the sides of an oar

And they will pass on, they will be gone. And when

It becomes unbearable, when you cannot stop

Reacting to every rise and fall of the wave,

Wait some more; you are of the nature to grow,

To extend towards the light, and touch the light

You will. Wait, and then wait some more.

Sometimes I feel so claustrophobic I could scream,

You say - that’s okay, I promise, just wait. The walls

Will gently shake and loosen and fall to the ground,

And you will find a way to freedom as effortlessly

As winter finds spring, infant finds breast, rain

Finds soil. Just wait; one morning your fingertips

Will reach for the curtains and sweep them open,

Will want them open. Nobody is asking the oars

To stop rowing, the water to stop flowing; nobody

Is asking the same of you. Nobody wants you to be gone.

Just wait; one day you will find the mother in you

And realize she, too, has always wanted you to stay.

(Note)

The next few poems I'm going to share are ones I wrote a few years ago... I'm rereading them because I find that, in some ways, they're still relevant, and reading them gives me comfort. <3