There is a cyclical monotony to remorse. We fail,
we fall, we begin again, hoping each time for a
different ending. We learn this from the sky.
It turns murky and desperate. Cleanses its insides.
Weeps. Finds itself unchanged in the morning.
Resets its congenital angst. Wouldn’t you like
to look up and find something different, it asked,
in all seriousness, one night. There is a surreal
potency in telling the sky about the waning
moon. In seeing its eyes widen. In watching it shift,
uncovering a few more stars. Unveiling another
moon. Will this make you happy, it asks, bemused.
Does it matter, I counter, in the sudden light,
but it can no longer hear me. I follow new stars,
they too are whirling. In the morning, they will be
gone. Hidden from different eyes. I will sit by the
window, waiting for the sky to turn dark again.
16 thoughts on “They too are whirling”
The precision of observation and reflection wind like clockworks in this poem — maybe that’s the essential I-Thou rhythm, even when there is only one’s ghostly breath on the cold pane. Here too we see that such fundamental cries are self-manufactured, and the answers as fleeting as our flickering attention. Well done.
Thank you, Brendan.
I love not only your wonderful phraseology but also your fascinating turns of thought, and the way you slide gently into this so natural-seeming personification of the sky – a perfect illustration of your opening remarks.
Thanks so much, Rosemary.
I love this. I get a sense of imbalance when I stare up at the stars. I used to walk to my back door and stare out into the night and wonder where I really fit in a marble whirling through the night sky. “There is a surreal potency in telling the sky about the waning moon. In seeing its eyes widen.” Wow!
Thanks so much, Susie.
Your opening lines draw me right in………I think the sky is what keeps me sane, midst all the ruckus down here on earth. Loved this poem!
Thanks so much Sherry.
At least there is the clearer view to be grateful for during those bouts of blue, even while knowing the clouds will return.
Thanks Rommy! Yes, one can find ways to cling to hope, anytime.
Oh my goodness this is incredibly poignant, Rajani!❤️ I especially love; “We learn this from the sky. It turns murky and desperate. Cleanses its insides. Weeps.”❤️
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Oh, the existential allusions are beautiful in this dialogue and poetic craftsmanship.
How I love this:
“There is a surreal/potency in telling the sky about the waning/moon. In seeing its eyes widen. In watching it shift,/uncovering a few more stars.” ❤️
Thank you Anmol.
Another gorgeous poem, Rajani. I love the sky weeping to cleanse itself. And I love it talking to us mortals. Wish I had your gift for lyricism! So well done!
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You’re too kind, Sarah. Thank you. Only wish the sky would give some indication that it is listening 🙂