Words freed yesterday,
Ring out today.
Songs breathe, birds sing,
Mutable is the day,
A crystal bowl, of clay.
Remembering today,
What hurt yesterday,
Does it really matter?
In today lies my salvation,
To live in jubilation,
Of a conquered sorrow,
Joys of the morrow.
Alive and aware today,
Rapture, my DNA.
No longer cautious,
rekindled camaraderie,
turns into precious blooms
while adult friendships
abandon Solitude ~
it sneaks a hasty retreat.
This evening is a poem,
a tree-lined, green, colourful
Poem I carry home
in my back pocket.
Murakami’s construct leaves all of his stories open to a myriad interpretations, and that’s the beauty of his narrative.
He manages to etch distinct characters in each of his tales with remarkable dexterity and the Murakami mind observes quietly, much like the Lamprey, who live off life itself. I was agog by the sheer brilliance of an imagination that defies coherence yet draws you in, makes you believe.
Majumdar writes with great sensitivity- delving deep into the young lad’s mind, drawing from both the light and the dark that exist in tandem within. Ori senses the resentment his mother’s stage life provokes in others around him, the family and neighbours.
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