Anchors of Light

Traversing the path means traversing the dark.
Mist blinds but moonlight hue
brightens from dark to blue
showing outlines of cobblestone path
leading to uncertain destinations
stirring thoughts of hidden things.

But fear disperses as two lampposts appear
rising perfectly towards sky
irrefutable evidence of human ingenuity and mind
anchors of light
giving relief in midst of the lonely unknown.

Poetry is compressed to fit smart phone screens. If you are reading this poem on a phone screen, please turn your screen sideways to make sure that you are seeing correct line breaks for the poem.

Light

Resplendent light lifetimes ago when we all walked on the edge of knowing something, maybe even something about how the light links itself to infinity and everything it breaches. The energy and the air then was a perfect reflection of life’s easy breath and relaxed mind.

In older age, there’s another slant. Yes, light encapsulated, lifted, and energized, but its sharpness stung and hurt the eyes, and those days, weren’t they too bright? Though reaching for nothing but truth, we forgot that while alive, truth cannot exist without a modicum of lies.

Winter Break, 2019

I drove towards the Poconos for one last task before break, which after it was done, would allow abandon. What a wonderful time and what a wonderful season that was – Right before the Covid 19 pandemic broke out and changed the course of world history.

With my last case visit before break completed, I started my journey home, thinking about how everything was in its place with my work, my parents, and my friends. Earlier that day, my boss told me she appreciated my hard work over the past year and that I deserved a great vacation.

Snow covered the surfaces of the parking lots and yards I passed. The little shops in that town looked like log cabins. Before getting onto the highway, I stopped into a local shop, The Pocono Cheesecake Factory, to pick up a cheesecake. My adopted, ninety-six-year-old grandmother and I, cheesecake connoisseurs, would taste test the cake several times over the next week before deciding that we liked our local Cheesecake Factory cheesecake better due to its softer texture.

My routine dental visit that week turned into a spontaneous but much-needed wisdom tooth extraction, which freed me of gum discomfort. Over break, I relaxed, ate soft foods (cheesecake), and spent time with those I couldn’t spend time with during a typical work week. I found and finished engaging television series like The Haunting of Bly Manor and The Haunting of Hill House, which both reaffirmed the important place in our lives of those we love.

We all get perfect moments in life, which allow us reprieve from life’s suffering, and 2019’s winter break was reprieve and bliss wrapped into one. That time was magical and its memories, and memories like it, have the power to dull any sadness that may come after.

Why Write Anything When Everything’s Already Been Written? by Ayesha F. Hamid

Life’s nothing more than a burst of energy that flickers and then ends more quickly than can be comprehended, so writers must race against the demise of everything around them and take on the mission of trying to preserve what surrounds them. Writing is an act of conservation before oblivion.

I write with the realization that the movement of my life will progress so quickly that I won’t even count as one tick in the clock counting the totality of time. My body continues on the predictable path for which it was programmed, self-destruction. Like all else that is mortal, I will be gone without breath, words, or a trace of sound.

Logic dictates that everyone I have ever loved is also finite. Living now, I grasp at memories of those treasured, trying to save them in whatever way I can. Writing enables us to spell out the context that a photograph cannot capture, and this context is what defines life.

Just as I am able to sit in wonder while reading about the history and life of those long gone, I hope earnestly that years and even centuries from now, another might stumble upon my words and know who I was, who I loved, and what it meant for me to be part of the living world: In this possibility, there is some sense and reprieve in what was always meant to be a losing battle.

“Escape, 2020” by Ayesha F. Hamid

A woman scribbles with movement of her pen
is able to change what’s unpleasant
describes only water dripping below
birds singing above
a melody forcing her ear to pay homage
as she writes of sun rays lighting
earth with yellow, green, blue
all the while avoiding thoughts of the virus
raging outside or asking if pandemic
will bring humanity to its knees

Please note: Poetry is compressed to fit smart phone screens. If you are reading this poem on a phone screen, please turn your screen sideways to make sure that you are seeing correct line breaks for this poem.

“Saved from Summer” by Ayesha F. Hamid

She welcomed the end of summer’s oppression,
the pressure under, over, everywhere
having exhausted her within.

In summer, the sun weighed down
disheartening dreams,
while the wandering, distracted mind meandered
wished to be someplace else,
wished to be free
somewhere else
where she was listened to, was esteemed,
someplace else where she never had to fear
being suspect for being something less than ideal
a place she wanted to welcome on hot skin
like a perfectly cool breeze.