image is a mashup of photos by Leo Cardelli and Cristiano Bizzinotto, both @ pexels.com
talking to the sun
the cars stop at red, a momentary block,
as the gaunt but big-boned man
— with sun-baked face and arms,
hair and beard dangling wiry, crinkled
like loose threads of his faded-violet
duffel bag slung on a towering shoulder,
dressed in tattered flowing brown robe
that had long lost its sleeves —
crosses our part of the street on to the middle island
to teeter beneath the traffic light that worries about
the man dancing round its weather-beaten pole.
the man’s fierce eyes tell me
not to open my side windows,
as he, a soul from the middle island, shaded
by the red-eye traffic lamp,
raises his hands high to the sky
looking up directly to the morning sun,
alternately shaking his pointy fingers of doom
to shoot down the cosmic glare,
or opening up his fists into a graven cup,
to beseech the sun and his many moons
to come rest in his palms.
and with a sweep of one hand and his glowing eyes,
he addresses the cars idling on the road,
holding them as hostage to his pithy and rage,
and stretches the other hand to reach
into his weary duffel bag.
i hold my breath as he struggles
to pull something heavy out of the bag
— would it be a rock or a bottle,
a missile, an incendiary cocktail? —-
while the traffic lamp keeps its red eye peeled
unblinking, unbreathing, unyielding.
and the man addresses the sun again,
as he now pulls up a thick,
heavily-frayed book to shake at the sky,
his mouth frothing, his eyes intent
to part the clouds that gather.
and just as suddenly as he had made his way
to the middle island, he darts
to the other side of the far street,
lilting and prancing, disappearing into
the din of onrushing cars,
and pensively plodding pedestrians.
and in the interval between his coming and going,
in the wait to return back to my own journey,
a baby is born in a hospital ward not too far from where
a dying man, as he breathes his last, hears the baby cry.
in a forest, a pale sprout turns green to smile at the sun,
while unheard, a tree in all its glorious foliage falls
cursing to the ground,
and the many tensions of growth and decay
that span the breadth between heaven and earth
promise the same beyond, but remain reticent
to let me in on their arcane wisdom and deep secrets.
– © said sadain 2019
photo by pexels @ pixabay.com
Welcome back (to the poetry saddle) I have missed the fire of your poetry.
Thank you, Ms. Jade 🙂
You are welcome, Said 🙂
Beautiful imagery. I could see the scene play out in my mind.
Thank you, Tracy. Based on an actual event, I hope I did justice to the scene. 😊
You did.
A vivid narrative, Said, a pleasure to read your work again. This one is a real “page-turner,” the character is sharply defined and still mysterious. And then your wonderful reflective journey outward in the world and to the beyond, what we may know and what we may not. For me, the idea that if we gaze into infinity we will not be able to cling to sanity, ties in with the protagonist. I am currently content not to stare skyward and wander in traffic. 🙂
Thank you, Steve. The pleasure is mine in writing.
Indeed, I’d be wary too about “gazing into infinity”😎. I suppose, one cannot attempt to really grasp infinity unless one loses the normal ‘sane’ manner of observing one’s world, which is to always divide & categorize into discrete entities, events, regions, spaces… discreteness that extends to even waves and ideas… to always think of divisions and boundaries, and call that reality. We are all so full of this, whether we like it or not, constantly dividing with, or by, some criteria in order to maintain the boundaries that make up our sane world. To confront infinity, one goes beyond all these boundaries and distinctions by turning to nothingness, dropping all discreteness that we know about this world, emptying oneself, in an attempt at division by zero. Some people will call this insanity, some will call it faith, some will call it calculus 😅
I want to thank you again, Said, what a beautiful, deeply thoughtful and eloquently expressed comment on the state of humanity. Absolutely awesome. PS: Sadly, I call a NaN a debugging session. 🤓
You’re welcome, Steve & thank you for the kind words. A debugging session, no matter how it is called, is always a sad affair, Steve, so you are not alone there 😀 In any case, a NaN is probably best left for an ET to explain to us humans. This reminds me of some lines I once wrote:
When are the extraterrestrials arriving?
This aging astronomer I dare ask,
And teach us of infinity
The wisdom that we lack,
Or diagnose the infirmity which ails us?
….
(rest of the verses here: https://sandstarsblog.com/2017/08/19/dreaming-for-the-extraterrestrials/ )
I am now moving further into part-time with WordPress, unfortunately, and I apologise for the late reply. A powerful piece you wrote back then— as always, the fault lies not within our stars but within ourselves, as someone or other said.
No need for any apology, Steve. I have a far worse record than you on responsiveness here in WordPress! And yes, we can’t fault the stars about that either 😀
Pingback: talking to the sun – Timeless Wisdoms