Thirty-seven

I had ignored my blog for too long. Yesterday, as I was quietly mulling over what my birthday means to me, I was compelled to write this poem. It’s a draft and raw as can be. Spring is always a good time to start new things to give life to projects abandoned. Spring is a good time to be alive and to have been born (thanks, mum and dad!). Happy April, everyone.

Stairs by Won Young Park (unsplash.com)

Thirty-seven

Thirty-six steps I have taken so far,
towards an end that I know not anything
of its distance or route,
or its end goal.
I see the steps in front of me
each gilded in different materials
bouncing slivers of gold.
I see shiny white steps of peace,
starry glitters of special moments,
dark sparkles of unknown storms, but
these are only the steps I see.
What lies beyond I do not know
and daren’t fathom a guess,
for it belongs to the new, the surprise, the giddyness
that new experiences bring, that make histories quiver in fear.
What lies beyond is beautiful because it is unknown,
pure as it is untainted
true as it is simple.
What happens after thirty-six can only be the same,
as what happens after three, or seventy.
Stairs that go nowhere – just different landings
and paths, that carry us along, each step different from the other.
I place my foot on the thirty-seventh and stand on it,
knowing that I know nothing, but
I will learn everything.

If you enjoyed this poem, you can find more in A Suspicious Collection.