Crossing the bridge, twice - a story

Crossing the bridge, twice - a story

Don't cross your bridges before it comes

It started  as bawdy jokes, in jest
A separation between them and the rest
Was it the beginning of the end ?
Keep your head down, your business tend
Stick by your own,don't  let the insults get to you
Or parry them with your own, trouble brew
Don't worry your head, without reason, rhyme
Don't cross your bridges before its' time

Burning bridges

Then one day the dark clouds, rent all pretense ,asunder
Marauding mobs went about burning, to kill, plunder
Through the chaos , the stone bridge, proudly did stand
To help flee, now that they were strangers in their own land

Don't burn your bridges

They couldn't burn this one , of earth, stone
So many others were sacrificed,to our hate alone
The river swallowed the debris of the burning stacks
Drank all the hate , anger, piteous pleas ,to run black

Bridge the gap

Yet the bridge stretched stubbornly to hold both sides
Determined it seemed, this separation to  tide
Painfully stretching to connect those who had drifted apart
A mute question to the distance, division, in many a heart

Water under the bridge

Many cycles of death, rejuvenation it took to cleanse
The hatred, suspicion, wounds to heal , to shed pretense
Until, at last ,sense prevailed, to sign a peace treaty
And the bridge opened to both in mutual amity

A Bridge too far

As he hobbled across in great anticipation
Of what he may find of his home in trepidation
Home, home , home ? No longer did stand
Long gone, with time's shifting sands
He was a stranger in a strange land

Home. of his memory, lived only in his head
Bridges could not bridge time, years shed

Build bridges

Yet ,as he saw smiling young faces , cross the divide
He knew why the bridge spanned the tide
It could not return him to what had been
But could connect hearts to build futures, unseen


--shubha

P.S. In response to apicture prompt on an online poetry group

Story of time

Story of time

With a yellow finger
The sun traces, the story of time
Upon my breathing walls,
In lengthening, shrinking, lengthening shadows
Measures,in distances, its' passage
As I watch , at rest,
Collecting the blessings of quiet.

--shubha


Inspired by a poem, Tranquility by Poonam D on  a facebook poetry group.

A Sunset Story

A Sunset Story

"Let's go, we need to get to sunset point , fast,"

"There it is said, we can see the most spectacular sunsets, memories to last", 

The sun will set soon, at quater hour  past,

Mother and son set off at a brisk pace, following the throng,

The little boy running, trying to,follow along,

Keep up ,with his mom's strides,long 

Till he slipped and almost fell, the mother turned with a frown,

"Come on, little one, we are very near the crown",

"Let's not slow down", 

"But mama, I am so tired, can't we stop?",

Said the little boy, the tears, threatening to drop,

 "I cannot keep up, all the way to the top"

"Just a little further, we are almost there",

 "Chin up, just a little more to bear", 

"But mama, aren't sunsets beautiful everywhere?"

The mother, stopped short,

Understanding, dawned, tears to her eyes, brought,

Turned slowly to the child, by guilt, wrought, 

 To value something that, by others, is sought,

To blindly follow the crowd , without a thought,

Leads to naught,

She smiled and said, "You are right, sunsets are beautiful anywhere",

"Particularly, if they are shared."

To know you were blessed with another day to love , to care,

So the mother and son separated from the tide,

Sat on a bench, side by side,

To the curious looks, of passersby,

Watched the orange and crimson bleed,

Through the filigree of the trees,

Listened to the song,that rode on the evening breeze,

Years later,looking back, at all the picturesque sunsets ,that had blessed,

This one, stood out from the rest .

--shubha

Story of a sugar cube

Story of a sugar cube

Among others of my kind, jostling for space

I had lain, proud of my form and white surface,

Yet within my structured crystals , I thirsted,

To know sweetness, I felt existed,

Until one day I was picked up,

And dropped into a steaming cup,

And as I was stirred into that hot brew,

Lost the form and color I knew,

Dissolving thus to sweeten another's cup,with love,

I discovered the sweetness , that I was made of.

--shubha