Din

He cannot bear it,
dull thud of shoes dropping
onto worn planks
well traveled by time,
those changing tides,
affronted ears plugged
with cotton balls
to silence the din.

Wondering wryly to himself now
do old people feign deafness,
or is the world too much
with them and,
as form follows thought,
retreat,
bodies no longer willing
to exert energy required
to interface with superficiality?

Diving now deeply into dreams
and will he, must he resurface
in the allotted time
to know what is possible before,
like some supernova void of starlight,
form extinguishes itself
before melting eyes;
draws a veil down
upon this illusory existence?

Image: Randis.deviantart.com

 

8 comments on “Din”

  1. Bela, reasons for enjoying silence and the deep blue sea may include getting away from all the noise and busy-Ness of Life.

  2. What a lovely verse Bela!

    What jumped out for me were these lines:

    “…..bodies no longer willing
    to exert energy required
    to interface with superficiality?”

    Very powerful though I wonder if it is really the body or one’s mind which needs to engage with all that is superficial out there.

    As I grow older and look at my own being and actions, I can see that my selective engaging really arises from aspects where I retain a passion or curiosity.And I suppose the realm of these two latter aspects shrinks with time and age.

    As we develop newer frames of reference from experiences and are therefore ready to react to similar situations as they arise. With such a frame of reference construct existing in our minds, the passion and curosity, which remain functions of some element of the unknown, declines.

    Shakti

    • Shakti, what a delight to view your contribution here, as always.

      I can’t remember what prompted me to write this, only that it must have had something to do with watching my mother decline as she aged. I changed the ‘she’ to ‘he’ because I found this very powerful image of the diver (!) And so.

      Mom refused hearing aids, though she needed them badly. I really believe at that point, for her around age eighty or so, she was done interacting with the world, and simply chose to close it out. I also remember staying in a motel somewhere in the San Francisco Bay area and, forgotting earplugs, pulled cotton free from Q-tips and plugged me ears with it. I’m used to a fair amount of silence in my life, and city din always put me into overwhelm. My mother was a city gal, yet still she retracted as she did.

      I love your description of the mind vs. the body when it comes to superficiality. For me however, even having to take my body into polite conversation seems stressful at times. At other times it remains delightful, but I still feel physically wiped out afterwards, whereas 10 miles on a bicycle or a day working in the garden barely affects me. These both feel like byproducts of age.

      The discernment I believe you speak of with regards to ‘passion and curiosity’ seems to winnow more these days, and part of this poetic pondering is noticing how those qualities do seem to be affected by the aging process. I can reflect upon many moments in my past when I became so excited about gaining some newer deeper awareness, and feeling as though I would explode, not knowing what to ‘do’ with it! How would I share it? Wouldn’t the whole world wish to know? Whereas now I simply notice, smile, and think to myself, ‘Of course! Ah. So.’ The passionate driving force conserves itself for my own pursuits, both physical as well as mental. If there arises the occasion to share, I do. If not, there is no longer the urgency.

      Namaste and Aloha, Shakti! ❤

  3. I read this four times yesterday Bela, hours apart, and then came back today to read the piece a further couple of times. There is something ethereal and ungraspable in the flavour of that which you present, and which I imagine to be intentional, as if the message itself were to be heard only upon being funnelled through some mental noise-cancelling filtration. It seems to me that you place the reader inside the noise-cancelled subject’s head in the closing verse, and we join him in his hushed, warm and secure introspectiveness. H ❤

    • Ahhhhh, Hariod, you do me great honor in taking this piece into your being as you have. If poetry could be explained, and heaven knows I try (see my above comments to Shakti), you have managed to embrace this spark of inspiration long enough to let it swirl slowly through your arteries and polish the edges of jagged thought before it lands at your feet, revealed. Wow. Thank you is far from adequate. Blessings, dear man. You are appreciated. ❤

      • I can only apologise if my comment itself seems unfathomable Bela, though it seems to matter little in all truth. You are of course quite correct, to explain creative verse, or similarly an abstract painting, is largely an exercise in futility, just as much as attempting to explain the scent of a rose would be. You show good grace in permitting commenters such as I to indulge our clumsy shows of appreciation though, and whatever is said on this side of the creative divide, it is as much as anything an acknowledgement that something was stirred deep within. H ❤

  4. Your comment, Hariod, is to me poetry in itself. I consider myself extremely blessed to have input in my creative life from such thoughtful people as yourself. It sustains that creativity more than you know.


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