Why do we send our words out into this public space? Share some of our most painful moments, our most intimate thoughts with people who are strangers, whom we are not likely to encounter in flesh? We reach out to connect, to hear someone say, “I have listened to your voice, I feel the same way, I share your views, I empathise.”
Sometimes even the note of dissent can be stimulating. At least someone listened and responded.
Frankly, response to any form of writing, whether it’s my blog or my books is my measure of success. Those words touched a chord somewhere, which means these outpourings have some meaning, are not mere self-indulgence.
Yes, I am striving for this kind of success as a blogger. If I wasn’t I’d confine my thoughts to the diary that is meant for my personal private perusal…
let loose on the air
like pine seeds
lofted by playful summer breezes
that coax them from the mother cone
as she opens her womb
to free her offspring,
to seed another world,
new and hopefully brave,
sends them to launch pristine forests
to perfume the air
and whisper arcane secrets all day.
But lost, forgotten
when a plundered kernel
strays to lose its sweetness
squanders it on a gluttonous tongue.
Its taste might linger
like the memory of tearing
gossamer wings apart
the expectant crack that yielded
a momentary sliver of joy.
But how minuscule the guilt,
of forests consumed
before they could sprout?
How brief the regret
for words cast by the wayside?
plump with promise once
compelled to dissolve
into the non substance of memory.
Yet sometimes, persistent as echoes.
Persistent as the aftertaste
of long consumed pine seeds.