Poem: This too… is a story

So, this is what the thirty-first year looks like. This too…is a story.

Poem: This too…is a story

Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect
Whatever you saw and whatever you said
It was all an experience
Just gulping the bittersweet moments
That may never come again
It was worth the wait of a lifetime
It never mattered to me
That you were right or
That I was wrong
Gratitude is all I feel
That you tried to be —
You gave it all, this I know
I may wish for more —
But that opportune moment is probably gone
The thirty-first year means something
The summer rains washed away things
The June winter has thawed
One thing that remains though
My silence and my poetry —
Plus memories to churn and cherish
No more homes to build
As the grey years descend slowly
This too…is a story.

~Ashok Subramanian © 2024

In these moments of uncertainty, my friend Priya always penned a nice poem for me.

Every story begins, climaxes, and ends
We close the book and our eyes
Caress the cover, back, and spine
Then put the book back on the shelf
It’s there, you know it, I know it
There are reasons for that story to exist
Perhaps to reawaken a part of you
that had long fallen asleep
You are awake now, yet trying to fall back
Do not, nurture the lit flame
Nothing will ever be the same
But you Ashok, can rewrite the stars …

~ ©️ Priya Patel 7/6/2024 🕉

Her words mean much, and my healing through poetry starts.

Poem: A PIECE OF ME

Love me or hate me
You are a piece of me
A character in my story
Your ticket to immortality
Just that you don’t see
What it means to me

Today, I stand not as me
Just a writer of our story
Words, verses, and chapters
People become characters
That distance in between
Only memories to lean

The grey years teach me
To let go and be free
There is nothing to carry
No regrets about this journey
A day when I will wither away
A piece of me, in you, will stay.

~Ashok Subramanian © 2024

“Everyone has that moment I think, the moment when something so momentous happens that it rips your very being into small pieces. And then you have to stop. For a long time, you gather your pieces. And it takes such a very long time, not to fit them back together, but to assemble them in a new way, not necessarily a better way. More, a way you can live with until you know for certain that this piece should go there, and that one there.”
― Kathleen Glasgow, Girl in Pieces

Are not we leaves in other’s trees? A piece of other’s lives. Priya sets the tone.

Poem: Leaves on My Branches

There are pieces of so many hearts
in each of us;
lives that have whispered in
for a precious few moments,
then left like the fallen leaves
from a deeply rooted tree
We like the tree, are here to stay,
but there will be an abundance
of colorful leaves
that whisper in and out
of our many branches
They are carefully written pages
filled with laughter and joy,
sadness and pain;
pages that we will read
over and over, again and again
until we let them go like the leaves
You, my friend, are a leaf on my branch
with many blooms left to grow
We have many more stories to write

~ ©️ Priya Patel 7.6.24 🕉

Yes, we have many more stories to write. I have many more stories to write, but I am, part of one such story.

Poem: LEAF TO THE TREE

If I were a leaf on your tree
There comes an autumn
My final dance party
A valedictory fiesta
Of blazing gold and red
Much like the evening twilight
Parting ways in a spiraling descent
A short ride of a few seasons
Rain, shine, snow, and the fall –
Sweltering and shivering
Yet enjoying the seasons all
Till the final fall commences
Those few moments, your memories
Slowly fading away like the foliage
Yet, a little tale of co-existence
For me, a lifetime of love.

~Ashok Subramanian © 2024

Some stories cannot be explained, nor should they be. Yet, some people understand us which is all that is needed.

“To ask why we fall in love is to ask why the leaves fall. And to ask how we stay in love is to ask how the trees stay.”
― Jimvirle/Jinvirle

~Ashok Subramanian © 2024