Is this the perfect moment for writing a sad poem?

Raining hard, feeling like a bard

Holding a pen, lost in thoughts

Outpouring, as raindrops softly and quietly

Kiss the grass on the backyard lawn

As always, I’m alone and lonesome

Nine months have passed, yet everything’s virtually the same

Would Time ever give birth to Laughter and Mirth?

Will I remember this someday

As the saddest year of my life?

Would these be the loneliest leaves of my diary?

Should this be the bleakest part of my biography?

Suddenly a black-furred squirrel sneaks into the lawn

Looking for something to eat or, perhaps, checking the raindrops

But in my mind, it’s just a solitary squirrel

Staring at a man wandering in his mind…

Or could be, a solitary man staring at a

Squirrel wandering under the rain

Whatever…does not matter anymore

When feelings are overwhelming

Reasons no longer count after all

I have come to an age when the joys and woes,

The fun and pains of my past

Pour down like rain

The stillness of the trees

The coldness of the breeze

The numbness in my heart

The sameness of the rain

The sadness in my childhood

The arrogance in my youth

Are these reasons for this perfect moment?

Am I really alone in this kind of situation?

Or am I simply expressing something natural and universal?

That every beinghuman, animal, or plant

Is cursed most of their lives with solitariness and loneliness

And with the longing to belong with someone or

With others of their own kind

Is there really happiness after sadness?

Is there togetherness after solitariness?

Is there belongingness after loneliness?

Is there heaven or hell after death?

Or is sadness only the default state

From where every being strives to escape?

While Heaven and Hell are just the

Personification of everything good and evil on Earth?

Is this really the perfect moment for writing a sad poem?

Could this someday be the saddest poem I ever wrote?

Could I then someday be among

The saddest poets one will have ever known?

Suddenly a black crow perches on the backyard fence

Braving the rain, just to feast on its piece of grain;

While I:

Still the same hopeful man with a pen in his

Hand and a heart full of dreams

For I am a yan yong you hong hu zhi

‘Little sparrow with dreams of swans’

=====

“That’s all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.

My soul is lost

“The same night that whitens the same trees.

We, who we were, we are the same no longer.”

Pablo Neruda, “Saddest Poem”

- 9:00 a.m., Wednesday, May 26, 2004;

Surrey, British Columbia

While listening to “Tragic Comedy” by

Immaculate Fools (‘Dumb Poet’; 1987, A&M)

About the Author: aLfie “eLf” vera mella was born in 1971 in Metro Manila, Philippines. He was a very inquisitive child who had shown fondness for reading and writing at an early age. He graduated in 1992 with a Bachelor of Science degree in Nursing, but the literatus in him never left his heart.
A true artist, eLf was the vocalist of a New Wave band, named Half Life Half Death, which served as the musical vehicle for his poetry. Before he left his beloved country in 2003, he was working as an editor of and writer for scholastic books and magazines.
eLf is currently living in British Columbia, Canada, serving as a caregiver for his maternal grandfather. He may have left a well-loved work but for a noble reason, and he never ceased from doing what he loves most since childhoodwriting. Virtually always home, he usually spends his solitary nights reading, researching, and writing about various subjects of his interestchiefly, Culture, History, Literature, Mythology, Music, and Sciencewith New Wave music always lingering in the background like a gentle breeze on a quiet sea.
A writer at heart, eLf started inditing his thoughts around the age of six; and he intends to continue documenting his feelings and ideas until his twilight.

Source: www.isnare.com