A Testament for a Better Tomorrow
The sun dips low in the sky, low over the water,
Over the wet sand beneath my feet.
The air is thick with the color of dying fire.
Darkness descends, unhurried, a falling feather.
If I were a poet, I’d say that I’m breathing in time with the breaking of the waves,
That the ocean and I are breathing.
We sat together here once,
When the sun dipped low in the sky,
and the air was thick with the color of dying fire,
And darkness descended around us.
If I were a poet, I’d say a feeling unfurled, petal soft in the back of my mind,
That you and I were feeling.
The moments we shared bloomed by my feet,
Small and quiet, fragrant and white,
In the cracks of the pavement
Where we stood and shared cigarettes.
If I were a poet I’d say I wanted to keep them, petal soft in the back of my mind,
That they were worth keeping.
You plucked them out of the cracks in the pavement,
With clumsy, childish, unthinking hands,
Smothered them with clumsy hands, with the weight of indifference,
Like the cigarette butts, you stomped out.
If I were a poet I’d say that there’s a beauty in the way things fall apart, inevitable,
That flowers die and are still beautiful.
But I’m no poet.
Instead, I say you don’t know,
Not a thing about caring for flowers
Blooming small and quiet in the cracks of the pavement.
I toss you aside like all your cigarette butts,
Stomp you out with the weight of indifference
Empty out my ashtrays and brush you off,
Like a dead bug, like the banality you are.
Instead, I stand, feet planted in wet sand,
Where we once sat together,
And watch the sun dip low in the sky,
Low over the ocean,
Over everything that could have been,
I watch darkness descend, certain and slow,
And I’m finally breathing.
-Written by Shreya Utla
Photograph: Jassil Jamaludhin.
Editor’s note: Sometimes, things fall apart even when all else around seems fine. However painful that experience may be, it gets better and as the old adage goes, “Time heals all wounds.” The essence of healing has been perfectly portrayed in this poem through strong imagery and the poetess’ personal approach to her situation. With this in mind, the editor would like to pass on a personal message of strength and encouragement to the poetess who came out with the poem for the general audience, overcoming her own personal reservations. MTTN would like to wish the poetess with more power and strength. As Khalil Gibran puts it, “Yesterday is but today’s memories and tomorrow is today’s dream.”