Monday Poem: I Did Not Fly Back From Mumbai

 

I too have wasted my life.
I did not fly back from Mumbai
early this morning, as you slept
deep between expensive sheets,
to bring you gifts and warm romance.

Instead, I sit here watching waves
whispering their secrets to the sand,
as the children play among them.
Running the sands of my life
through my opening fingers
to make pyramids that only crumble
and then slowly disappear.

The waves fall over themselves
in their headlong rush to the shore.
We had our own small dreams
flung like those waves
against the rocks
of this all too solid world.

Waves trickle back to the sea in defeat
still ready to be flung forward again.
Slowly the rocks take the shapes
that the insistent waves demand.

I know all my castles are gone too
washed away by waves. The tide
will leave no trace of what I've made.
So little left behind to hold and remember.

I too have wasted my life.
I did not fly back from Mumbai
early this morning, as you slept
deep between expensive sheets,
to bring you gifts and warm romance.

 

[See here for an explanation of these posts labelled as Monday Poem]