Dust Bottles

I always believed that I enjoyed running, my mind did especially,
With thoughts and emotions constantly running,
Oxytocin and Serotonin pumping, putting me at an all-time high.

So much joy ran through my veins, from the tips of my toes to the ends of my hair,
Seeing moments with my eyes that made me happy to be hoping they last forever,
I capture them all in a glass bottle before I lose them in the ocean called my mind.

There lays a room in the abandoned part of my house where all these bottles lay,
Dusty, old and most of them untouched, what do you do when there is an abundance of happiness?

I stood there, at the door of the room, peering inside, hoping to seek the inspiration my pen longs for,
For, they said, the pen is mightier than the sword, but they failed to mention it was only in time of melancholy,
My ink is feeling parched and rejected, missing its wistful touch which brought it to life.

I sigh, staring in, wishing for one of those dusty bottles to rattle to give me a sign of hope,
I saw it in a corner, to the very end of the room, a dark bottle that shone in its ebony glory,
I rush to it, excitedly, only to pick it up and see it labelled as “Do not open”.

Uncertainty yet excitement rushed through my mind, pumping me up with adrenaline,
Everything about this screamed melancholy yet it laid in the room of happiness,
With no memory of its prior existence, the dilemma is if I should open it or not.

Alas, I leave, sit back on my desk and open up the onyx beauty,
Only to be rushed down a tunnel I wished I’d never revisited,
It’s true what they say, melancholy is the mistress that one wishes they could let go of, but the artist would be nothing without it.



-Simran Kewlani
15th August, 2020

Author's Note

Criticise if required.

Reviews

[Einstein Noodle]

interesting ... i think the concepts are strong ... almost a manic/depressive state .. that is re-enforced by the conflict between feeling over happy and searching a room through dusty bottles ... i think you are right about poets ... after all it is a strong passion that drives us to express ... as best we can .. emotions, scenes, characters etc. seems you speaker is in a bit of a slump ;) one can't force such things can we?! they either strike ... or strike out :)))))) i think one could focus a poem just on the imbalance that causes the manic state ... as i read at the start of your poem .. that stuck with me ... thanks for sharing Simran ....
E.