Verse Six: Pensive Solitude

Sitting in room one out of three,
I have only myself for company,
Thoughts crowd each other, waiting to come out,
Staying in my head, not quite reaching my mouth,
But thats okay, since there is no one else here,
Even if I were to speak, there is nothing to fear.
No one to offend, no one to appease,
Thinking what I want, doing what I please.
I get carried away in the deluge of thoughts,
into a realm of my own, where everything else is naught.
The cat jumps in, breaking the monotony,
Gambolling around,playing, generally frisky.
Her appearance breaks the reverie i was in,
as i reach out to toss her a paper ball from the bin.
She runs after it, chasing it with a mad fury,
It she had her way, it would end up as paper puree,
One loud meaow and she shoots off through the door,
Leaving no trace she was there, no paw prints on the floor.
Thoughts are sometimes like this, they come and they go,
Creating havoc while they're there, but leave nothing to show.
I am alone again, free to converse with my mind,
Explore its hidden corners, wondering if something new I'll find.
It is at times like these that one appreciates solitude,
Because thoughts often go unheard in the cacophony of the multitude.
Being alone is not so bad, its healthy from time to time,
It gives you time to examine your thoughts and also spring clean your mind.
There are times when no purging is required,
Others, when just rearranging your thoughts leaves you tired.
Sorting the tangle in your head is quite a task,
But would you have someone do it, if you knew who to ask?
Is there someone you would lay your mind open to,
So the I, Me, Myself, becomes Me, Myself and You?
If your answer is yes, keep that person close,
S/he is your soulmate, and you're lucky to have found one of those....

Devika

Poems I like 3 : Do Not Stand At My Grave And Cry...

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am in a thousand winds that blow,

I am the softly falling snow.

I am the gentle showers of rain,

I am the fields of ripening grain.

I am in the morning hush,

I am in the graceful rush

Of beautiful birds in circling flight,

I am the starshine of the night.

I am in the flowers that bloom,

I am in a quiet room.

I am in the birds that sing,

I am in each lovely thing.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there. I do not die.

Mary Elizabeth Frye