Lalin Bel (The Moon is Beautiful)

Lalin Bel

Watch her.

Watch how she hangs

In the eastern sky.

Watch how she sits coldly,

And quietly,

On the frosted window sill.

Look at her and know

That you are no longer looking out

Toward the cold, grumbling river

Of the so called old world,

But that you are now seeing reflections

From wilder waters.

Lalin Bel

It is she who holds the memories of the

Warm, rough seas that beat against

A rugged island.

Do you remember?

Do you remember when she

First came out of the sea?

Remember how she pushed

Her milky head out of the

Pitch lake ocean,

And how she sat on the water’s edge?

The fiery stars were there too,

Brushed across the inky dome

Like glittering sand.

Now,

Look.

Watch how she covers her face

With wispy, frosted clouds.

Watch how she hides herself in shame.

Lalin Bel

They too bathed in the pitch lake sea,

And they too made fires burn bright

On the cool, starry sand.

Do you remember?

Do you remember the pearls in the sky

And the pearls in their eyes?

Do you remember

The sound of the bats

Flapping in the shady trees

And the squeaking of their feet

On the cool powdery shores?

Lalin Bel

Please,

Zanmi mwen,

Tell me that you remember.

Tell me that you remember the cracking

And the popping of the

dry coconut husks.

Remember,

The thick ashy smoke

That flushed the buzzing mosquitos

Out of the houses.

The driftwood that went up in flames

of deep reds, and yellows,

And blues.

Lalin Bel

Remember how they woke the next morning,

Remember how the sun was harsh and

How it burnt their eyes.

Remember how the fires had burnt down to ash and how

The sea had carried away their castles.

Now,

It is only shadows that dance

On the chip-chipped shore.

Now,

The rough sea

Swallows the stars.

And now,

 The wind skims lightly

Over the ocean’s oily face.

----

Their laughter was pure that night,

                                                                                                                                  

 But it was swept away

By the breeze.

Wi, 
Zanmi mwen,

 Lalin bel, bel, bel.

This is How I Walk

His footsteps. sharp and rhythmic, echoed down the corridor, and echoed throughout all the ages of his life. They were his bell of mindfulness, yanking him away from the whirling mental turbulence, and linking him to memories of days gone by.

There had been so many corridors, so many solitary walks.

The sharp tac-tac-tac being belted out by his shiny dress shoes on the hollow wooden parquet faded slowly into the muted brushing of bare feet on dormitory carpet. The pounding of heavy boots on cold, wet, New York sidewalks played to the same rhythm as brown sandals slapping onto bare soles on hot Caribbean sand and pointed heels clicking on Parisian pavements.

He was moving all right. Walking the same path to nowhere that had been beaten and trodden by all those who had gone before him. The footsteps stretched out like a long chain in his mind, linking him to that dream like moment when he first found himself wandering about in this dream like world.

How the world had changed, and yet how familiar it all seemed. Even his feet had morphed and expanded, and even the shoes were ripping and tearing before his eyes.

His heart beat to the same rhythm as his feet. It moved to the same two step which beat constant and eternal throughout the cosmos, and which made today fade and tomorrow blossom.

He continued slowly and, now, purposefully down the hallway. One, two, one, two, one, two. He was a metronome amongst metronomes and, like all who had gone before him, and all who would come after, he waltzed to the eternal beat of the invisible conductor.

Click, clack, click, clack, click, clack, click, clack, one, two, one, two, one two one two one two one two one  two one toe one two