When life gets too much
I sit in the pony –chaise of memory and jog along
Those misty alleys, singing a long forgotten song
When life zoomed past on roller skates with playmates
When our gods were a catapult , and a pocket full of marbles .
Happy flowers still bloom, in those flowerbeds of memory
A soft breeze still wafts in those pallid corridors of time
When we sat on boulders, dangling our legs
Slurping life to the dregs
Burping boisterously, to make place for more.
Lolling in hammocks reading The wind in The Willows
And like the Water –rat floating on dream canals
Eyes pricked to phantom songs pealing high
Between vaporous grey wave-lapped walls, sigh!
Ah, that burst of joy lies petrified in one corner
As disaster lurks in another corner.
The willow weeps, the soothing breeze falls silent
As grotesque godmen grip the gullible by the scruff of the neck
And pandemonium reigns, and reigns.
While the small fry suffer, the big fry emit
suppressed, stifled snorts.
And rot creeps in. Catastrophic.
But outside my window, chirping birds chirp on
wanting to hoard and store
Some chunks of a vibrant life. Euphoric.
My pony –chaise once again rears to gallop back in time.
And I snugly sitting there singing that juvenile rhyme.