This ephemeral suspension clings to me as a single silk spindle
With elasticity that betrays the weight of my sorrow
So that I force its longitudes to span my abyss
Yet it is without the strength to bring cessation to my decent
That grows slow as I exhaust the stretch of its fibers.
I am captive to gravitational law and the foreign
Dynamics of this realm to which I am a comfortable alien;
An alien pendulum spiraling into darkness
That hath no boundaries or dimensions on this its swinging axis
But oh, does this night have the density of compact mania
And the melancholy of a thousand strung up men.
It compounds the heart as a body on the sea floor
Where no light may ever hope to touch,
Devoid even of air to bring relief to the dying.
By Rohini James
Copyright June 2015
All Rights Reserved
Does our failure to let go, for fear of pain, engender that of others? Are the wells we so happily draw from only full because we flood them with the tears of our loved? It’s something to consider before selfishly defending our own security alone.
Pastel and colored pencil on paper (12 x 18)
By Rohini James Copyright April 2015 All Rights Reserved