In this moment

By Izak R. Crafford

 

For: Henlo Naudé who helped me understand my own experiences and the true value of the love of a friend

Stranded in time
my ship has run aground amidst empty streets and the empty places they connect,
my mind has turned to reflection and mourning over those I neglect.

It feels as if it was all stolen:
the exhilarating swim in a sea teaming with people,
sure stroke after sure stroke [each uncertainty deftly concealed by cunning masking],
leading to a certain goal –
each moment lived in service to what is to come,
no moment recognised for its own merits – never a destination,
rather just another stop on the road to the glittering metropolis.

The street is empty.
I sit in a commonplace garden beside a sloping common tree
and revel in its crookedness and gargoyle form –
not generally acceptable you know, but who defines the norm?
Daisies blaze at the foot of a tree,
a golden ankle chain,
the blooms rest upon the darkness that dwells among the leaves and stems;
a cloud engulfs the sun and gloom my world,
the darkness peeping out more bravely
and the light glowing shily
the russet leaves on the commonplace tree a brooding purple red,
making no effort at splendour: the colourful mask of sunshine stripped.

The wind blows life into his flute
and strums old trees
and lifts the masks from well-loved faces
to reveal the brooding torment and burning sorrows dwelling there.

I am in the moment,
there is no future moment to live for,
for it is the destination even if I will sometime move on again.
I am in the moment and I am alone beside a common tree
clad in purple red –
a bruise on the green landscape
like the inkling of my fear on the canvas of my revelling in being here.

The sun returns to stroke the earth with its glorious rays
and masks are swiftly put back on:
glory returning to my russet tree and joy to me
and the haunting words of lone confessions banished
call me, but I cannot answer their call.

The wind rises in the premature dusk,
the sea regains its life and it seems my ship’s once more moving,
no more in a teaming ocean full of people,
but a lake of terror and ghosts
and haunting memories of those I neglected,
the water a sluggish black realisation:
I’m alone.

I am in this moment,
the storm lashing me for my crimes
rain pelting me with rebukes for not understanding and not seeking to understand,
thunder roaring reprimands as the wind breaks me with his hand.

I am in this moment
of gloomy windows with no view,
no going forward
and only haunted halls behind.
I am in this moment
alone and terrified.