To This Vantage Stone

Twenties and thirties were muddled, dark decades.
Beauty, I thought, sat in perfect forms.
I missed the maps on wrinkled cheeks…
And the silver crowns on heads that survived storms. 

In lines, wrinkles, and greys…
All I saw was the fading of the light.
Too proud then to listen to and absorb stillness,
Now, here I stand at the gates of forty-six. 

I see beauty in new light. I learnt, just in time:
The gentle, kind, and fierce shield of father’s deep-browed eyes,
Aunt’s unfeminine, roaring laugh, mum-in-law’s strong, firm love,
Grandmom’s soft true voice, and the gentle voices of many mentors! 

They brought a stone each to my bedrock…
And lifted my chin high as I met blistering skies.
Forging a deeper, kinder, and steelier me
They taught me how to live before I die. 

My sons think I’ve stayed the same… ageless!
They are yet to see the acres I walked, the love and pain I’ve sowed.
…And the quiet grounds in which I bury its loss.
Today, I know. Not a single day was lost. 

The flare… the brilliant flame-throw of youth,
I smile, oh how that fleeting currency made me feel!
But no one stays a child prodigy for long.
That’s a truth we all harvest, finally, alone. 

Thank you, kind elders, whom I slighted,
You weathered my haughty gaze, and a hot young head.
Never took your hand off my head ignited in foolish pride,
And led my stumbling steps out from the dark. 

You guided me out of the shallow shadows to this rock—
Not a ledge of sadness, but to wisdom’s throne.
You showed me true beauty lies in chasing
A weathered, stubborn, and unyielding sun. 

Storyteller