A Battleground

Either call it a battleground -

one narrative battling the other -

or call it mind,

the arrow hits the target.

A battle -

every day

every hour

every minute.

Past against Present

Present against Future

Future against Past.

In the aforemath of a battle

In the aftermath of a battle

the battleground remains thirsty.

In the battles won

In the battles lost

the battleground remains barren.

In the excitement of victory

In the melancholy of defeat

the battleground remains dreary.

Such is the nature of battlegrounds.

Such is the condition of my mind.

Thirsty -

sans any showering of life

Barren -

sans any sprouting of life

Dreary -

sans any squealing of life.

And I have brought this mind at your door,

O bestower of harmony

O preserver of peace

O destroyer of conflict.

Its thirsty existence knocks

to be penetrated with

aqueousness

Its barren soil knocks

to be impregnated with

lushness

Its dreary realm knocks

to be infiltrated with

mellowness.

Knock!

Knock!

Knock!