Little Shade

Perhaps our only mistake was being human

[littleshadelittlesun]

//

If all that was in your heart was turned into a drink,

every thought you ever concieved in there, sweet or salty,

happy or sad,

and every thought out of love or joy be nectar,

and those out of envy and spite be poison,

all of it in a glass slid to me across a wooden counter,

I'd take a sip in a blink.

which is to say, I'd trust you with my life.

and I wouldn't care if I'm wrong.

//

[littleshadelittlesun]

You throw the ball a million times, aim it a thousand miles away, and the dog will fetch it back every time.

I'm the ball, and the dog is my heart, and it is my fate to come back.

[redundanttypo]

moonlit misadventures

When I was a child I used to call the moon my friend. Every night when it was crescent, I liked to pretend that the night sky was grinning at me, us both laughing at inside joke between me and the stars. And on nights that it was full, my friend looked at me, Mouth agape in shock, Surprised at its own capacity - I would smile at it, because I never doubted it for a second. People tell you to not stare at the sun, but they don’t tell you that of the moon. No, because no one should be denied such a sight. so, stare at it.                                                                                                  marvel wide-eyed at all it can be.

The moon never lies. The moon, when I read to it my poetry - tells me when my metaphors are simply too full of themselves. The moon is flawed and foolish, but it is also dauntless. The moon is unafraid to ask for help when it cannot rise on its own. The stars let it drape it’s heavy arms across their shoulders And carry it to it’s throne. The moon                                                                                                          does not pretend to be all powerful. It knows that sometimes you need to depend on the light of others, To show you the way, And that to ask for that is okay. The sun                                                                                                                  is like an old man, He, cranky with age, is annoyed at teenagers who curse at him when he’s out, and long for him when he’s gone. The sun,                                                                                                              calls his wisdom ‘light’, passes it down to the moon. And let’s the moon, a young pupil, Share it with the stars. They whisper light like a secret- Across the night sky. Giggle, make us think they are twinkling. And the moon - Oh, the moon whispers these secrets, Those of the sun and stars and all that breathes light into existence. The moon                                                                                                            whispers them to me, In the darkest hours of the night So I may never be without a little light, Let me reflect it the same way the moon reflects the sun. And so, my darling, if i choose to write one last poem, let me write of the moon; in all its phases. And if I am to know but one thing all my life- Let it be the moon. Please, my darling - Let it be the moon. For we too, cannot shine on our own.

-s.s

[littleshadelittlesun]

We tossed victory around like candies on Christmas.

And they stared with blank eyes as they rained on them,

Pattering on the blocks,

Pelting on their skin.

To the children who grew up too fast

To the ones who didn't grow up at all.

[littleshadelittlesun]

I have a rugsack that I carry with me everywhere I go. I collect things in it, random things.

A crumpled up note to someone’s mom. A button from someone’s old shirt. A rose thrown away. A test paper folded into an airplane. The feather of a strange bird that fell as it took flight, never to be seen again. A watch dial, it’s hands frozen at 3:05 forever. A newspaper, with pictures cut out and gone from the sports section. A marble from an abandoned game of Lakhoti.

Everyday I walk the streets, and everyday I pick something new to add to my rugsack.

And every night I go home, to my desk, and turn the bag upside down, all its contents falling out. You see, I have to make something out of these bits, something that makes sense.

Humans spill stories where they exist.

Some nights, they tell a whole story: some nights, only a little scene; grass rolling with the wind, the warmth of an impending hug, the serenity of a moonlit night.

And some nights, they all go back into the rugsack.

[littleshadelittlesun]

Time is a capsule, distorted as it is as a concept, is the only real order of things.

In the fact that as it passes, the degree of order decreases.

The wolf faces you saw in the clouds wiped away like the reverse of the assimilation of cotton candy.

Two tufts of white grow ever distant, until there seems to be no shape, no story.

The sky turns red, the clouds speed to the horizon in more colour than they had ever been.

And when all else turns dark, the stars from last night twinkle in humour.

For only in the loneliness of our naked self do we find the closest thing to answers.

[littleshadelittlesun]

Dressed in the colours of a sunset, she walked in with her shoulders slumped and her brown hair falling down in loose curls, with a smile that matched every handshake. Her eyes, though, they didn't hide that she was here for the food, really.

[littleshadelittlesun]

High up above, or down below.

I feel the wind whip at my face as I stand at the edge of the elevation. It's a piece of boulder that hugs the edge of a road that overlooks the valley.

The wind blows from behind my back so that my short locks are all over my face. But it doesn't bother me. I feel like a shed leaf, falling off of a tree slowly, swinging like a cradle as it makes its way down. I feel lighter with every passing second. So light. I close my eyes, let go of my legs, and lean. And I rush to the ground far below.

The next thing I remember is pain. Pain exploding in every part of my body, I try to move but my body doesn’t comply. I try to breathe, but every breath sends a pang that radiates all over my chest.

I try to open my eyes, and the light is blinding. I can feel hands on my body, trying to grab at me, trying to sit me up, tapping at my face, pressing at my abdomen. I try to turn away from them, but my body is screaming agony. There are murmers all around me like bees buzzing inside my head.

I open my eyes once again, and it makes my head hurt. I see a bunch of faces I can't recognise, and then comes yours, that now dominates my field of vision. The intensity of murmers increase. Your long hair fall on my face as you look at me, eyes wide with fear and anger. I try to look away, and I slowly feel myself losing consciousness. The last thing I hear is you saying, “You asshole...”

*Just something I'm working on*

[littleshadelittlesun]

I don’t think enough people understand that

When we talk about trying to change the world, we’re not talking about a better world for ourselves,

We’re making a better world for the generations to come. The good that we give in this world is not gonna come back to us in this lifetime, because let’s face it, the Earth is a mess, and a single human life span is not enough to turn things around.

The day we realise that we are the smallest possible entity in the Plan to make things better, is the day we become big enough to actually go through with it.

[littleshadelittlesun]

I wish it were different. I don’t mean better. Just different.

Maybe the street lights not polluting the night sky.

Maybe a different song playing on the speaker, maybe no song at all, so I could hear the distant chime of laughter a little louder.

Maybe a different place that I sat on, one where I could recline my back and watch the stars.

Maybe one where I didn’t hear them shouting, not matter how hard they screamed at each other.

Maybe one where we all sat together, instead of divided by what side of the sky we saw: the side of the moon, or the stars.

[littleshadelittlesun]

Thranduil in his unbeaten magesty, even in dark times.

[littleshadelittlesun]

The bottom line of all existence is the absence of it 😂

Singularity. Everything exists and doesn't exist at the same time, there is no reality.

There are no real answers, only an endless spiral of questions getting more and more out of hand, being solved by minds who think they are closer to the truth, but are only trapped in a forever-growing network of strings that make things exist, and make things not exist.

Matter to energy, energy to matter, until one day both are gone and we are staring at a stark space-time that is staring back at us.

[littleshadelittlesun]

It is always the child who invents. Not an adult. An adult knows only how to organise around an already existing pattern. Children are not bound by rules like that. For them, every dot is a seed to a new pattern, every moment branches into a million possibilities, and every idea is endless.

It is tragic though, that they forget it as soon as they make it.

And it is just as magicical that they immediately come up with a new one.

And any sane adult who claims he invented something brilliant has had a brilliant kid, or a brilliant joint 😂.

[littleshadelittlesun]

A lil something, not strictly my own inception 😅

[littleshadelittlesun]

The road goes ever on and on...

[littleshadelittlesun]

Ripples

Back when I was light enough for my dad to carry me on his shoulders, he would take me to this lake a little far from home. We would chase squirrels, and count clouds, and when we ran out of things to do, we would sit at the edge of the stony bank, our feet dangling in the water.

One time, as we sat there, I had a bright idea. I slammed my foot into the water as hard as I could, (subsequently drenching both me and dad), and watched the waves I made break its surface. But they never got far enough, because the wind picked up, and the water forgot where my foot fell, and the whole lake moved at the wind’s command.

Isnt that what we humans are always trying to do? To ‘make our mark’ in this world. We think we can change humanity as we know it, if only we try hard enough. And we beat ourselves up trying to reach this arbitrary stage of life. But many times, we find our efforts wiped out by the wind.

We don’t understand fate.Try as we might to create a ripple that reaches the other shore, there are always other, much larger forces at work, orchestrating the very essence of life from one motive to another. And you can either take the tide and ride with it, or bid your time. And at the end of it, it wont be your splash alone that reaches the other end. It will be all the thousand things that pushed it along, ripple by ripple.

[littleshadelittlesun]

Warmth

You wake up on a morning, shivering lightly from the cold. You stretch your hand to the window, and the daylight softly hits your palm. And you keep it there, as it warms it. And you find yourself trying to grasp it, to hold on to it, to not be cold again.

Thats what memories of him are like.

Even now, when a bit of sunlight breaks through the trees and hits my face, I stop in my tracks. I stop for long enough to remember him, long enough to miss him. But not long enough to wish for him again.