THIS THIRTIETH DAY

By Fengkha Deep Daimari

Shall I wait out this lone night to wave my hands at the first of the rays?

And mark this thirtieth day mine looking at my footprints I cannot trace.

Do I seem to long to open my eyes and walk further more in this garden of vines?

Flowers in bright hues, large and small, sometimes bleached with salt water

Marking the years that I have breathed in and out; black summer and white winter.

Cheery April and warm October— I leave them behind—I am a sinner.

There’s smell of iron in the air, interspersed with rust— a jagged little knife

Glistening weak in the heat of august— there’s wind of hopes and fears.

Do I do I not hold it in the warm palm of my hand?

I hear its whispers telling me to etch my battle scars and broken hearts

And turn this green-born and green-souled red with blood—

Splintered woods and shards brings me to the ground.

Am I tied down to this vines, while I bide my time?

But it is not enough to hold all of me; I am the multitude and the multitude is me.

So set me free, as I search for a place to call home… but I am uncertain

For I have spent a lifetime alone and the older I get the more I am afraid—

Fear’s the occasional surprise that rocks my boat and time the wind on my sails—

The shore’s out of sight and I spread my arms open wide— let me drown in the black summer rain.

Perhaps my hand flails open catching only the horizon.

The sun is long gone and the vines wrap the knife and comes the twilight—

It greets me like a long lost friend— but in the pieces of my heart, it is the lover I wait for.

For this thirtieth day sees no twilight; perchance the battle’s long and weary

And as Death comes, the stars and moon shall tell my story to you, the lover I long for.

It searches my yearning eyes and meets with a longing. I close my eyes: it knows my heart’s desire.

This thirtieth day I leave no blood, no trace, no pain, no blues. No me.

I am in a time where words no longer matter. Embrace me, the dark of the silence.

For this thirtieth day I leave no words; the spring of words no longer spews words

So I may rest in the arms of the lover I love; in your silent mouth may I learn to find peace;

Lest Death comes early and my universe slides away from the lover I wait returning without the armour

The Northern Star guiding you to me where I lay to rest.

By Fengkha Deep Daimari