I
listen as the young ones speak
with
souls bared and hearts still fierce
though
blood drips despair
thinly
hidden under brave words
constantly
conjured to keep it at bay
They
write of bright hopes,
of
meaningful strivings
everyday
intimacies
of
marriage and divorce
the
intricate and painful details
of
broken dreams
a
story that must be told and retold
Of
what should I write?
All
this lies behind me now
like
some strange and foreign country
dimly
remembered
What
of any dramatic unfolding can I relate,
sitting
as I am by my fireplace
memorizing
the flames
with
a cat stretched on my knee
and
one by my raised feet
fur
soft and warm in the comfort
Time
lays a different pattern now
Even
busy details can be broken down
and
spread out one by one
like
colored beads on twine
Time
can still collapse in on itself
and
leave me frayed and frantic
but
there exists an ongoing expansiveness
which
is new and full
of
life and light and possibility
And
, as at a certain turning point of youth
I
stand at the crossroads
where
paths spread out in all directions
I
stand at the threshold
of
a million new beginnings
Radha
