Moon at Half Past Noon

Spiritual struggles are often singed with doubt. The pain of looking at our fate and fortune is real. It isn’t easy to escape the disillusionment, though. One may ask – is this all real? In the next verse, I have tried to pull out the thorn in the heart. It is the seed of all my doubts.

The scene plays out at a train station. It’s a variation on the ‘Godot’ theme, where mind keeps ‘peace’ or ‘reality’ at abeyance.

Where am I, Is this sky
Under my feet
Is it a dome, over my head
of shattered dreams
That howl and cry

Is it a beast
that hitches the ride
A ghost galloping fast
Hurtling hard
It whistles past, a humbled pride

A monster of a bullet,
Freezes like a minute
Blossoms like a flower,
a million eyes of a needle
Spewing tourists, like Eiffel tower

Mole of a hill, ants scurrying still
Climbing tall, a chilling balm
Gnawing the toes, gripping free will
Spreads like a shiver
Burns like a fever

When the time laps,
licking a wounded soul
Leaving a gaping hole
Of thoughts, that belittle
Brittle belief, little relief