I remember the waves
when I first saw the sea-
not at all what I
imagined them to be.

As I walked into water,
into waves full of deceit-
noisy, salty, angry, stuffy,
moved sand beneath my feet.

The sand stuck to my soles,
clothes wet, clingy and cold.
Somehow, I cut my toe and each
new wave rifled through my soul.

I took a dip in the water, salt,
infernal salt in my nose and eyes.
My hair all itchy, my tongue all dry,
a new entry to the things I despise.

I do not like the sea.
Clearly, it’s the hills for me,
and the sea shares my apathy.
Next time this comes up,
I’ll gladly let the sea be
and focus on something
that takes me anywhere but the sea.

I ask you this question,
are you living for something?
Or are you merely living within,
letting the world pass you by as you
watch and barely feel your own presence?

Is this a false illusion?
Are you seeing the world pass you by,
as you sit still, discontent with sitting,
not realizing that you are on a moving train
and what you see is relative to your motion?

Is your life not itself a moving train?
The journey has commenced when you sat,
and it’ll get you where you need to go,
as you sit still and go with the flow.

Yet

Do you ever feel like you’re not moving,
unless you physically feel that change?
Do you believe that you’re moving in that train-
just like you’ve never seen yourself grow,
even though you were not what you are now?

Passive change happens without you moving,
but is that enough for your soul? For your present?
Your future will not be the same,
no matter whether you do move, or do not.
Passivity never gives you control, just change.

Control comes from seeing yourself move,
so disbelieving you are that you may not
believe change happens any other way. But it does.
There’s always change in living within, but
true control comes with living for something.

Do you fear not changing, or
just not controlling that change?

It starts with a stupid lump in my throat-
“Why does my face feel so hot?” Tears.
Tears brim and flow from helpless eyelids,
trickle down my cheeks and wet my lips.
I hastily wipe them away. Is today the day?

For a moment I held it in, shook my head,
exhaled and thought “Be ashamed!
A tear is a child’s ploy, a tear is the
weak’s device, to fail to cope is to cry.”
My grief didn’t stop for my pride.

I buried you three days ago, Eddie.
I fronted up and reacted the mature way,
only showing anger, only being snappy,
only hating people with sympathy,
only removing all your traces before I cry.

Why am I crying now? I had enough warning
when you turned old and didn’t fight a bath,
when you couldn’t lift your legs anymore,
The day when you didn’t move for a walk,
and went right where you sat, best friend.
I watched the syringe, your misery complete,
as you passed on to an endless sleep.

Did I honor our love? I grieved. Did I weep then?
No.  I sulked, though- and hit my hand on things.
I never did that when you were around. I used to
talk to you when you put paws on my chest, no?
It’s hit me today, and you aren’t here to see it.
I loved you Eddie, I love you still- and I will cry.

A tear is a helpless plea, it’s a shout I cannot
voice- anguish which I cannot bear to retell.
It hardly comforts. But it helps me breathe.
Do these tears ease the pain of losing you?
No, not today.  “Breathe, breathe, repeat, and
maybe a good cry. We’ll see how tomorrow goes.”

(An ode to the millions of kind souls and their life-saving work during these troubling times.)

Kindness breeds with contact,
passed down from a kind soul
to another, an ever-sharing cycle
of care, empathy and tenderness.

Kindness grows not on the walls
in our hearts but in its cracks,
and fills up the spaces- looking
good while doing so too.

I learn kindness anew each day,
from those I see around me.  A million
Samaritans may not know they teach it,
but in their actions I learn it anyway.

Kindness can save and enrich
lives, all it takes is one choice.
Free to use, easy to share, kindness
begets kindness and grows with a smile.

Kind thoughts and kind spirits,
long may you live on! For until the
last person kind to others breaths
no more, we may call ourselves humans.

Little steps I took as a child,
tottering, falling, and bawling.
But those steps got me here,
and now I am walking fine.

Little by little I spelled out words,
Tea, Are, Eye, Sea, Kay, Why-
But as tricky as the words were,
today I think and read and write.

Little toys I played with, and made
model planes and conducted trains.
But now each memory shines bright
in my happy-childhood mosaic.

Little bit at a time, I shared my life,
sat down with strangers, and got up with
friends. Little jokes and stories were shared,
little realizing how much we cared.

Little smiles followed by grins replace
streaming tears and anxious sighs.
Indeed, little joys suffice in tearing down
tears and frightening away fears.

Every little moment in life passes
and with it, a part of us too. But life
is full of little moments, little joys.
It’s never too little, or too late.

Little things are planted, and
tend to grow slow. But trust me,
and trust yourself- tend to these
with love and big things grow.