Thinking on the Move - Beginning of the End

What do I make of the tolling of these bells? Where does my heart stand at the coming of these winds? If it were a fragrant flow, my mind would not be wary thus. Tis a sharp wind, a frigid wind, from places far beyond, where I've seldom been. It speaks of a latent energy buried in the pith of a rolling boulder, as large as a mountain and as loud as thunder. A fever flying in from the changing sky that is a hue of yellow now, crimson then and later a shade of a color unknown. Fluttering garments, windswept hair and a nervous twitch in the fingers and toes. A flag that drooped before, is waving now, the inconsistency in its flutter striking a chord with the fickle palpitations of my own bloody heart. A smorgasbord of emotions swirling and dipping, shifting and falling akin to the nobility and freedom that is now all around me. And yet in its midst is an intangible heaviness, teasing and just beyond reach, offering a momentary chance to touch but never the ability to grasp and control. Grief and goodness, balm and burning, malaise and melody - all bundled into one little fleeting window of time.

The pulse of this moment is as mysterious and bleak as a deep, hidden cavern and yet, it carries shards of a mild hope. Maybe there is a sun there on that distant horizon where this air is from. Maybe there is an inherent hope in all things that are coming to an end. For in every ending, there is a beginning to cherish. If not of anything new and bright, if not the birth of a shining path, if not an inception or a hopeful reprieve, there is always a consolation, however scant, that it is indeed, the beginning of the end.

Of Demons and Ghosts

Ghosts, they are near at hand,
Pounding hard on the front door.
Merry, mad, belligerent and bland
"We come to you from the memory store".

Demons, hanging outside the back door
With crimson eyes and smoky words.
A crack in the wall or a hole in the floor,
Then they float on in, in their hazy herds.

"Its a stormy night and the winds are cold"
"I ought to let them all inside"
"Usher em' in and let the folds unfold"
"For tonight, restraint, is no friend of mine."

A melee of sorts, a silent fray,
As the noise ensues, with no sound.
Ghosts and demons, grim and gray
A motely crew and we're all sleep bound.

Futility

Brick by brick, on a field of green
You built them strong and mighty tall
Walls to make you deaf and blind
Yet you see them still and hear them all

Pillars and beams to bar the sky
Mortar, mud and cauldrons of tar
Visions and thoughts they seep in still
No window unshut nor a door ajar

Curtains, coats and blankets hazaar*
Ales, wines, smoke as blue as the bard
The din of waves and the twinkle of stars
And yet these pangs, they strike you hard.

Forlorn, tired and aching you lie,
Throw spiteful, rabid questions around.
"Wherefrom do these feelings come?
Where indeed can my peace be found?"

A fool you are to think you can try
To shut out from you that which you breathe
When the air is steeped and laden with
Desires and dissappointments of a bygone bliss. 

*hazaar - thousand (hindi)