As part of the route 66, through life
Nightingale signals that, there is one we are tasked to
Ordinarily it seems impenitent, effortlessly required
But it has to be honoured that is the deal
With the price required of one
On inevitability, it has to be paid
Not so heavily on one's stock
At a go, of such price required to see
Hence its absence, the realization of commitment
Pushed to the background, like breath
With easy, unassuming and unimposing
Settle with repertoire and without macho
Yet it exists in ways that comes to light
Manifest when need be, and it is called upon.
One of these days you will come to know such notion
When you are tasked to recall on account
You will realize, that every passage in life
Takes from one and gives of its own
In transformation as necessary
Just as the nightingale sings
On beds of roses to change colour
Every individual or occurrence
Leaves an imprint of their memory
And take that of one, as exchange of gifts
Sometimes seen vivid in daylight apparition
You came to mind, deep from my sub-conscience
Like a ghost from once upon a time on route 66
At night when the nightingale sings
In the pre-dawn of darkness, you came to mind
Her music pours out memory, you came to mind
what smart metaphor.
ReplyDeletewow.
Your article was very helpful. I'm really grateful.
ReplyDeletepredawn darkness. fantastic expressions.
ReplyDeleteKind of mysterious. What you have written here is quite interesting, and I am still trying to understand it, with its assemblage of ideas and rich images.
ReplyDeletePart of what I am getting is the idea that the no-effort-required approach to life is not telling the whole story, that every choice requires some kind of commitment, and perhaps to some degree, we are in it before we know, and we will need in some way to follow through (or not), and we will never completely forget the road we've chosen.
For me, the nightingale recalls the story of the nightingale singing and bleeding until it dies, into a rose tree, in efforts to magically make a red rose out of a white one, a very sad tale. Interesting that you begin and end with a nightingale, but this one pours out memory instead of life/love blood along with her music.
The memory box reminds me of an art project done by a mourning group in remembrance of loved ones who had passed away-- each member of the group got a small box to decorate, and the artist/therapists who led the group arranged them all together in rows (similar to your photo, above) in a museum for display in a Days of the Dead Exhibition