The lunatic, the lover and the poet
All three in one, we’re mostly none
Of these, but dreamers marooned on a rock
Amid a sea of unrealized ambitions
Thinking there’s still time to see the world
And finally to fix on some decisions
We’ve postponed on our journey from afar,
The thrilling visions of our youthful self.

But December’s come around again
The festival of lights and celebrations
And awareness that those dreams remain
Where 12 months prior we’d left them on the shelf
Seemingly within our easy reach…

While stranded on the shore the lonely wait
Alike, those huddled figures in the street
Am I then one to beg for understanding?
Give me no succour at this end of year
But courage to share the little that I have,
To mock the ego-driven drift to death,
And when it comes -   atop my grave - a purse
Empty, not from chasing fantasies
But having tried to leave this world - no worse.

December 2019