The abundance returns
on this early Autumn day.
A forbearer to the coming Winter streams
Down comes the rain,
harder and harder,
as the wind whistles
that old, familiar tune
which I recall so well from days of old.
It was with me in my lonely youth;
and stayed on during The Quest.
A subtle soundtrack
to rainy days
which would dampen my spirit,
a dullness outside
mirroring the grey within.
Yet that wind –
he lives on now,
as do I;
changed circumstances in a full life
and the same earth, and sky
His breath sways the branches –
still green and full,
soon to turn yellow
before falling down,
leaving their hosts stark naked,
bare against the elements
in nature’s harshest season.
Dams await refills,
tanks much the same.
And in the coming month, we fill
our hearts without shame;
on spirituality ever so bright,
a flood of Divine Light.
Ramadaan, the great Reset,
waiting at our door.
Good deeds and soul-shaping changes,
we hope will last forever more.
Please fill our spirits
with as much light as we can bear,
for we know not if we’ll see you again,
after the coming year.
A quick piece written amidst much interruption, on this rainy day before Ramadaan. The kids and wife are all home (school holidays), and under such circumstances, I would never usually even attempt to write such things. I cannot do creative stuff under such circumstances – with other people around, much less screaming and fighting (which is sometimes inevitable with the personalities around here, especially being cooped up on a rainy day).
I need silence. I need to be alone – completely. It’s always been that way.
But this time, I attempted to do something different: to try, even despite the lack of perfect conditions. Because the reality is: I rarely get those perfect conditions. And so, I rarely write like this.
And it will take effort – trying to write under these conditions – but I have to try, don’t I? Otherwise, it’s just: carry on as normal, not doing what you could try.
So, I tried. And I became extremely frustrated that the thoughts and words – which seemed to be flowing so well at times – were so interrupted. Poetic flow murdered by environmental circumstances.
But I persevered, when I could. And just kept going – after some semblance of settling my mind again (even if that peace was shattered again minutes later).
So, the result is what you see above: a poem that is more a draft than anything refined enough to publish. If I had the time to polish it, though, I’m not sure I could make it better. I don’t like editing my poems. I rarely ever make significant changes, because the best of me comes when I’m in a flow state. What comes naturally – what comes first – is most authentic, and that’s what I try to capture. Or rather, that’s what seeps out of me onto the (digital) page.
And today’s original flow was so stymied that the energy of the piece, to me, will always carry the frustration of wondering what this could have been, but never was.
Regardless, I post it here because I wanted this captured permanently. Both the poem and the struggle that went into it.
This blog is not just a home for perfected material. It’s for the experimental, too. And I put it out – even though I don’t think it’s good enough – in the hopes that something in it will touch a nerve somewhere.
What about you?
For the poets or creative writers out there, what about you? What kind of conditions are ideal for you to write your best work?
And what do you do when you just cannot get them? (Or enough of that kind of time and space.)
Tell me about your process, and your struggles.
I would love to learn…