Ariadne's Thread

Home: A Holiday Haiku

Yuletide cheers ring down from the heavens like a heavy rain

heavy rain

it has been raining for hours

I pass by shadows of people I used to know

who used to know me

memories fall, thicken, turn stale if you leave them out too long

don't use them or just throw them away

The merry children run past me with smiles on their faces

with suspicion in their eyes

trying to guess if there really is a Santa Claus

trying to figure out if it is only mom and dad under the Christmas tree

or if some man with a magical sleigh really makes his midnight ride

I look at them, look at them close and I know that used to be me

but now, now I am grown

no time for fairy tales or lost buried treasure

pictures of youth scattered in the fog

left in the evening of my past

left for someone else's life; another child's dream

It makes me wonder if I ever existed, if I ever was or ever lived

what is time but something that revolved from one morning to the next

revolving in a circle; an elliptical path

moving from one pole to another only to end up where it started

at the beginning

a 360^o loop; infinite; never ending: ending only at the beginning

as if the beginning is where it started, or where everything will end

Time tangles me in its webs, in its unresolved journey, in its winding obsolescence, sometimes, somewhere, I am caught in time, a scared and bright eyed boy filled with emotion, devotion, energy and delight

Somewhere I exist, like I was in my youth

somewhere that memory never dies; the events I lived transgressed

somewhere, this is all true

but when I look in the mirror

I see another face

another time

someone else perhaps

perhaps another race living simultaneously with me as I wander from place to place

images racing in front of my eyes

my skin has grown old

developed scars over the years

my eyes have lost their luster

my hair begun to thin

this is not my childhood; this is not my playground

I have responsibilities, no time to reason, no time to rhyme

but somewhere, lost, I am still playing by an open holiday fire

singing songs to the tune of the radio

riding my bike through the forest green

sledding down mountains of ice with my face chapped red

....dreaming of being older

as a child, I look ahead, with my spirit long and uncombed

with my skin soft and innocent

I look forward to the day no one can tell me what to do

when no one makes me clean my room

when my mother doesn't press the brush against my head and my father doesn't bend me over his knee

a time when the world isn't so tall, and I am not so short

I can remember wishing I was grown

but now, all I wish is to have that time back

the time of innocence

a place when things didn't matter and time didn't forget

But I know that is over now, and I can never get it back

The rain comes down heavy, heavier each day

I've heard the rain is supposed to change to snow any day now

but with time, you can never really tell

Quietly the snow comes like a serpent capturing its prey

it comes down like blankets covering a warmed earth

people hustle, they bustle and rush to the stores

eager to spend their cheer on someone they love

My son asks 'What did you know when the world turned over?'

I stare vacant at this question, as if there is something there

a void, empty hollow stares back, with no answer to give him

I try to reach back to my childhood, look into the mirror of my past

but all I see is this old man, married, with family and not someone with play school dreams

not someone with daydream imagination

I try to look back, at all these memories, all my flaws, strengths, accomplishments, experiences but nothing seems to come

I see emptiness, darkness, a barren place where the boy I used to be, where he used to live

and I can't remember his name

I call out, as if he can hear me, but no one responds

and I begin to wonder if there really is a God above us all

for if there was a God then how can we remember, how can we remember his name?

My son tugs at my arm, and asks me again, 'What did you know when the world turned over?'

I pause, looking down, smiling, and say 'You will just have to find out for yourself.'

haiku (hi-koo) n. An unrhymed Japanese lyric poem having a fixed three line form consisting of 5, 7, and 5 syllables respectively.

Dear Friends,

Obviously this work I just presented you is not a true haiku. So, you may wonder why I called it a haiku then. Perhaps it has to do with the definition I presented above. That is, in a haiku there specific things one must meet in order for one to be able to call it an actual 'haiku.' There is a meter, or a specific rhythmic pattern found within a true haiku that I feel is somewhat symbolic of life. We each have a daily routine we go through, events which may be expected, just like the rhythmic stance of a haiku.

We are all involved somehow, with each other, for we have met somewhere in time. Time is a series of rhymes, pulses, quarks or transitions. Each of us pass each other, and then leave, not unlike the solemn pattern in a haiku. Remembering each other the next time we pass is hard for new memories seem to have enveloped the old. So, can we really say we met, or did I only slumber when I passed you by?

The question is up to you to answer my friends, it is all up to you

Have a safe and happy holiday season

Sincerely,