Sailors in the Sky

"I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death;
I am not on his pay-roll."
(Edna St. Vincent Millay, Conscientious Objector)

Unlike many of our poets such as Millay, Dickinson or Donne, the idea of death unnerves me. And yet, very often, very ordinary acts of life like sleeping or getting up seem so daunting, that being able to pull through an average day seems heroic beyond comparison. These days from my balcony on the fourth floor I watch the clouds sail through the blue sky, borne by that breath of the monsoon, that ruffles my matted hair. Between sips of incensed tea, I observe that beneath their cottony backs, illuminated by the setting sun- their bellies are black. It seems as if they're carrying time on their backs, which slides gently yet tirelessly, illuminated golden on the outside, but is ever darker on the underside. 

I love the way that darkness always hides beneath or behind light. You'd think that it is afraid of light as it's always on the run. But what I think is that no matter how much it tires, light can never banish the dark. Light up a candle in a hall and see how many shadows spring up. At noon, in open, you'd think the pebble is all lit up- but just you lift it slightly, and there it is! Darkness, embracing it's tummy, like a baby monkey clutches onto her mother's belly. 

As long as there is sunlit life, the shadow of death will always be lurking around somewhere. As long as there are sunlit skies, the shadow of death will always be hitching a ride, hidden, but ever-present. Happiness and gloom, one must eventually learn to take on both, embrace both, make both one's own and trust them both equally, for without the one, there isn't the other. Oh, my tea's over- time to step inside...