Oleander Highway

You are Here, Now
The one who was there, then
cannot be you.
The one who will be there, when
cannot be you.

She narrates her story
the past where she was ripped apart.
Torn pieces of her’s flew around
she was helpless, hopeless,
full of shrieking sounds.

Now just some words, like a story,
of her’s are strewn around.
Yes, there is memory but no relation
to the madness that was then found.

Then who is it that moved
from there to here?
Is time a long highway
to tread for years?

If certain motels and inns
were her shelter then,
why is it she doesn’t feel now,
what was, that painful hell?

With every step she grew
blisters on her feet.
Grace made sure, now she must mindfully take each step.

Something changed everything slowly.
She wasn’t aware.
About her reflection,
the mirror did not care!

With a feeling she climbed mountains,
crossed the hardest cliffs and the deepest dungeons,
a chip on her shoulder she wore.

Miracles happened in bits and pieces
giving her more and more.
Rapid changes soon revealed she had no inner core.
All those things she had imagined in one go –
they completely tore!

The highway was in the head,
the traveller of the past was long dead.
She hadn’t walked through all that pain
that was another her that was believed to be living in vain.

There was no transformation
there was no loss or gain.
She was looking through some other window pane.
How can she take credit for nothing she brought about?

You are Here, Now
Back then, it was not you.
You are Here, Now
Tomorrow then, it will not be you.

Stories remain stories
Bloom of Life is all there Is
We imagine we are the traveller
who was born and will be dead.

 

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4 Comment

  1. Bindia Khanna says: Reply

    Beautiful!!

    1. Thanks ☺

    1. Thank you ☺

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