One

Out of the smallness that is me

Not you

I don’t know how you stumble through this world

Or glide, shine, explode, trip

Out of the smallness that is me

Is the only point of reference

I’m no empath

Can’t speak for you, choose colors for walls or swatch of fabric

You may stand beside me all our lives

Rubbing shoulders, sharing scraps thrown

By the hedgemony

Still I am me and you are you

You born in a family of four

Eight, three, six

Me, born in zero

A concept that is Indian

As my concept is reduced

Shrunken, made to fit a narrow lens

Just me

Till this world strokes her end

On my wick

And kissing me bon nuit

Extinguishes the tick tock tick

Out of the smallness that is me

To some an ordinary, downright boring set of genes

We are not that much more to each other than code

The man who seaks a mate types;

Pale skin need not apply

I like coffee and cream not plain vanilla

Whilst to another I am a warrior, a fighter, a courageous soul

I could have fangs and scales and they’d love me still whole

Their eyes pierce the superficial wrapping of the world and locate my root

Still

I wake from salt, I die in sod

Alone

An only child, no lessons in

Understanding concepts of siblings

I hold your hands in imaginary play

You take the razor away and hide it behind teddy

We swim underwater to the same heartbeat

Imagination has a secret back door

You stay behind whilst I am forced

Out into a single stage for ill-prepared audition

Can’t tap dance your way to inclusion

The audience are sets of Siamese twins

One yawns, the other powders her nose

He tweeks his moustache, she fidgits on the balls of her toes

A dancer without freedom

As I am given too loose a rein

Tell the child to hush and stay out of sight

You may find her gone before she’s finished

Learning her lessons from the good book

And sun comes ashen and discolored through poorly wiped glass

Yesterday’s merriment hangs like a wreath in stale air

Adults drop their heads as if pinched with regret

Just yesterday we didn’t think on it

The hiss of spectator and judge dualing on parapet

Still I am me and you are you

Longing to transcribe the distance

Tap tap of moorse code

Flash flash the lantern extinguished by high wave

No translation

I sit

At a table for one

And watch the elbows jostle and spar

Closer than twice removed and strangers can understand

A plea we have no words for

In the long sum of day

Yawning at our door

Warm and content like a cat

Who has lapped spilt milk

Before it turned sour

Out of the smallness that is me

Seven billion voices and one

Stubborn in her persistent belief

We all

Count

23 thoughts on “One

  1. One awesome poem, so many beautiful layers of being one….
    “Still I am me and you are you
    Longing to transcribe the distance
    Tap tap of morse code
    Flash flash the lantern extinguished by high wave
    No translation”

  2. Sometimes your writing is like a punch to the gut, but other times, like now… It’s like a door opened from darkness into light, and with silk being held, warmth.
    This was wonderful. Thank you.

  3. Hi
    Thank you. I am happy to see your wonderful poem. It gives me a thoughtful thinking and am  happy for that. That is always my intention to see a post that gives me happiness.

    Am happy  to share at least a part of that happiness and love here as am commenting now.

    Well, If I wish to be happy is inevitable to keep the vibes flowing.

    Cheers,

    PATRICK

    #PATRICKSTORIES
    Peace ✌and Love ❤

  4. This was one poetic ride. It’s like that feeling after a really intense rollercoaster, when you wanna go again but at the same time are afraid you might get hurt. And right now I am realizing how this rollercoaster found its way into my mind. Just watched “Love, Simon” yesterday evening.
    We may be able to connect but as you wrote, we are also our own universe.
    Gorgeous poem! 🌈

  5. As another only child your poem really resonated. We go through life feeling we have missed out a lot. So many evocative lines:-

    “And sun comes ashen and discolored through poorly wiped glass

    Yesterday’s merriment hangs like a wreath in stale air”

    Woderful!

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