Myriad Reflections. Shastri Akella

Too Many Yesteryears

I stare across my window sill,
beyond the frenzied patterns of the rusting grill

A stark sky dotted with dazzling stars,
as if a satanic face of heavens gorged with bright scars

Tucked under creased blankets, a stank bedspread under my hind,
A thought creeps into my mind

How does my little window frame this infinite sky’s face?
Audacity conducted with grace

The sky color strangely reminds of old, blotted ink,
& the smell of smudged words appear along memory’s brink

Words incessantly scribbled with undulating passion,
and woven thereafter for fictitious fashion

Where are those words where are those tales?
Oh, my memory is stained with darkness my senses pale

Those stories have now escaped beyond the gates of anonymity,
their presence consumed by failure’s sorority

Stories that once carried torches of hope,
in a young heart to which everything seemed possible – with any difficulty it could cope,

It dawns on me that my heart has grown old,
my yesteryears have jaded it with mildew of melancholy and a lachrymose mold

So many yesteryears nothing that can console,
all they have left in my heart is a tear-stained hole

No warmth of love no material glory,
If only the book of my life had but one happy story

I let out a tired sigh,
my tears dried up I cannot even cry

Hope has eluded me each time I knocked on its door,
Oh, I have no faith left in its allure

My heart is as cold as the winter night outside,
all is icy within – the flowing warm blood stirs nothing inside

And then the clock chimes the midnight tune,
the desert of my life loaded with another day, another dune

It suddenly dawns on me it is the 19th of December,
I surprise myself – cause I never expected to remember

I knit my arms around my shoulders giving myself a hug,
I wish myself “happy birthday” & sense wilted yesteryears giving tear-flooded eyes a tug