I never told my wishes
But let my concealment,
like a furnace of fury,
feed on my eyes riveted
by ire and impudence;
I eternally pined in thought,
And with a blue and gray melancholy
I sat like Longing on a pew,
smiling at Grief and teardrops
welled in the windows of my soul.
No other Gods listened to my pleas;
No other Sun lit up my heaven,
No other star ever shone for me.
And even yet, I dared not let
my useless passion and vain hope
languish in rapturous, radiant pain;
Drinking deep of that profound anguish,
How could I find my place again?
Tag: Fate
-
exiled
-
Draw the Moon
The sky is howling in the twilight
As the chariot of the moon flies;
She hears her fate that she wants not
Thru the rustling leaves and grass
Swaying in the wind of the chariot
And draws the moon from the seat
To take back her unwanted future.
-
Till the Tide comes in
My will glory in preservation.
My mind will take heed of any good suggestions
That are wise, thoughtful, honest, and sensible.
My sufferings will be granted compensations,
A reward, which will be priceless and noble.
My hopes are high, my yearnings are strong
while I breathe in my earthly life,
Paved with many a trajectory,
sailed on many an uncharted ocean.
Dum Spiro Spera. -
Incongruent? Anachronistic?
Where am I?… The above-referenced adjectives are hard to choose when I describe my own self. Am I out of place? Yes, I feel frequently so when I talk with others and find myself estranged from their subject matters that are uninteresting. Anachronistic? Yes, when I listen to what others say about their life patterns and their perspectives on trivia, relationships, facebooks, etc., etc…
In fact, I always feel uprooted to the time and place where I do not belong or I do not seem to find much comfortable to live. Such feeling of estrangement from the present has developed a certain kind of malaise in me, which is akin to perpetual melancholy.
Incongruent? I often ask myself where I should be. My peers seem to have already established themselves in their lives whether it is at home or at work; they are married with children, tending the family matters as homemakers or they are successful career women in terms of social strata outside the home. No wonder do I feel alienated from the group.
Is this all but an illusion? I ask again myself. “Quo vadis?” Will I always be a stranger among these aggregates I encounter here at this time of my life? My true volition is to get a crystal ball that will show me the right avenue leading me to the right place in my life. Or seeing a chiromancer may fulfill my never-ending sense of premonition.
Or it might be that all these things that I talk about and feel are nothing but a Kafkasque dream; that all of the aforesaid and things I am writing down are not of a reality but of a very realistic illusion.
It’s a Litany of Saturday Night Melancholy. Thank you all for reading it.
Alone, alone, all all alone, Alone on a Wide, wide sea.”
-Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Flame, Glass and Ink are Poems, essays, and reading notes by Stefania Joori Suh 
You must be logged in to post a comment.