The Wise Old Log

Sitting in my balcony
On my favorite logwood chair
I’m held captivated
By the brilliant after-glow glare
A breathtaking display of light & colors
Purple streaks chasing fiery hues
While far in the horizon, the orange ball slips below
As the twilight draws a curtain on yet another day
The evening melancholy habitually creeps in
Having found a permanent home in my heart to stay
In that magical hour when the two times meet
Someone picks the thread of my thoughts
And slowly starts to speak
My chair
Yes, you got that right
Howsoever strange or uncanny it may sound
But my favorite logwood chair
Pulls me deeper in her cavity
Hugs me closer
As I curl in her warmth snuggly
And for the first time, I see
Beyond her unshapely rugged wooden beauty
My scars, my wounds, my woes, the broken me
Every single piece, in its pocket, it guarded securely
Like a true companion, withstanding the test of friendship
Unflinchingly, she had always stood there
A true testimony to my silent tears
No questions ever asked
No accusations hurled
No drama staged
No expectations envisaged
Wrapped in each other’s arms
We lay, with our souls, bared
A strand of hair, the breeze had pulled loose
She tucks gently behind my ear
And starts speaking from the wiseness
She owed to the ’n’ number of circles in her sphere —
The Pain
That haunts us
Pops up in our dream
Creeps up in our thought in idle moments
Bends our mind beyond our mental capacity
Becomes a mystery that refuses to be solved
Turns into an enigma that cringes at getting resolved
There’s no point in trying to fix it
Let it go gracefully
The sting of remembrance
In your heart
Will come and go
Until you learn to differentiate
Between the two
The pain of holding on
And the peace at letting it go…

July 3, 2020