Each precious moment

Life isn’t idyllic or beautiful, the crisp breeze doesn’t
always complement the scent of the grass,
but if you say, when you stand before the
Great Throne, ‘I wish I’d never existed!’
Honestly, sincerely and truthfully, the words
a cry of your heart than the outpouring of blandness
from your mouth, then I assure you that you’ll
be spared judgement.

The ways of this world are mysterious and the ways
of God more mysterious because none can comprehend the
latter even if they clasp the former and know its secrets.

He gives and takes away.
He bestows richness on the wicked and sends
the broken to more misery.
But these things are best left unfathomed
because knowing is seeing tears
on David’s face as Absalom’s blood finds
the ground.

Each moment you live you devour with insatiable
hunger, and yet cry for something better than manna,
despondency is just a bard’s lament or the
theatre of the charlatan,
we create most of our sorrow because most grief
stems from pure selfishness –
a sense of abandonment,
a longing for something else,
a betrayal of the conscience,
a bitterness for each blow delivered,
a rage against norms,
a hatred towards oneself,
a resignation via self-pity.

Life is often scented with mildew
and my chin is weak and my body frail
and one uppercut sends me to the floor
and I foolishly stay knocked down,
and write sonnets about the spittle-ridden
and bloodied mat.

And you say, ‘Beautiful! Mesmerizing! Such depth!’
But I ask you what’s deep about sinking in a
shallow pond,
I ask you what’s beautiful about clawing my
heart out and serving it on a platter,
I ask you what’s mesmerizing when it’s the
same trick, the same illusion I gave you,
just done differently each time.

Life isn’t beautiful, but I’ll live it anyway
and one day if light seeks me out and brightens
this oubliette, and destroys both the trapdoor
and the walls, I’ll walk away from all I’ve
ever known, and if you found me, you’ll
see someone just surer of his convictions,
but still the same, like the old oak that lost
its branch in the storm yesterday, but still
stands strong tomorrow.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)

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6 Comments

  1. And yet, this IS beautiful. You know what I love about your writings is that each and every time I can hear your heart. You pour everything you’ve got in that moment into each piece. So whether you’re soaring in love or groveling on the floor, I’m right there with you. And some of it I know first-hand because these thoughts so closely mirror my own. And I’m a wicked wretch and I’m clinging to God even though I’ve not heard from Him in years and I’m in love with someone who might or might not retaliate but life and miles separate us. And then I read what you’ve written here and I can say, damn yeah he knows exactly what life is all about. This is real life shit. A shallow pond?? No but a deep well that has been dipped out of so many times it feels shallow and familiar. Thank you for writing. Thank you for sharing such a part of you. I cherish each one I read, truly.

    1. Tara, I cannot thank you enough for such a beautiful comment. It truly moved me and encouraged me to keep pouring my heart out when I write. You resonating with my work like that made my day. The beautiful thing about you, my friend is that you see yourself as a flawed person and carry on despite your imperfections. You don’t wear masks or call yourself ‘good’. I see myself that way too and try my best to move on through art though the past often weighs me down. We both have a wealth of experience and that gives us profound insight into the functionings of this world which sometimes borders on madness. But remember that madness sets us apart from everyone else who’s too busy conforming and leading ‘normal’ lives and gives us this gift of art which we use to articulate our core. I may not comment much but I enjoy reading your work too. It comes from the heart and that’s poetry.

  2. This…. this is a beautifully tragic poem. A path that many experience yet, unable to articulate as well as you have here.

    Bravo… well done dear poet.

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