In a single moment,
life ripped apart the last visage of illusion
from my mind;
tearing away the memories that I viewed through,
everything I belonged to…desperately held onto.
I have been painting a portrait of existence;
Each brush stroke filled with the pigment of significance,
masking what was really there.
Behind the window dressing,
reality is laid bare–
an empty space of naked seeing.
How does it feel?
Quiet. Vacant. Still.
The pattern again.
As never before
I feel the threat of loneliness loom
and the lure of the sensual ephemeral pleasures
that may appease the shallow fragmented self
that seeks escape to numb the self
that clamors for truth.
Such a vacuum lingers.
Passionless. Without a country,
belonging nowhere and to nobody;
for attachment forms strings
that pull we puppets.
Have I been asleep for 20 years or merely in a stupor?
When I probe into my inner storehouse,
there is nothing but the echo of a confused cry
tethered within the cell of a false identity
reverberating against the musty darkness
WHERE WOULD I GO?
I absconded into night, taking the darkness with me
so there would be no shadows on your eyes when morning awoke;
that beams of light sifting through the windows,
could bathe your face, coaxing your lids to open.
No need to search for where I am.
Where would I go?
I dwell in the interim between and beyond earth and sky, –everywhere and nowhere, where Time is not–beyond reach of each;
Yet I harbor the vicissitudes of both states in every thought you have of me,
every word you speak of me, in every memory you know as me.
My voice resounds in your laughter,
reverberates like cathedral bells calling the faithful.
Look above. The saturated clouds are swollen
with your tears I weep.
Look below, look within. There is no place I am not.
I am the sun on your shoulders
when you walk to the ocean’s edge
and cast your eyes on the shimmering necklace
that clings to the shoreline,
blinking like diamonds as it washes across the sand;
the surge of joy, gratitude, and humility you feel swelling within you like the tide itself.
Do not mourn.
Listen to the earth’s soul breathing in and breathing out.
Let it wash over you, pulling away the barnacles.
Every time you count the colors of blue in the ocean,
watch the birds soar into infinity,
or see the miracle of a bud bursting into flower,
I will exist in all these things.
When I walked through the door, taking the darkness with me,
I found…. not death, but life.
Coming soon – The upcoming release of Ronaye’s book by British publisher in London, England; to be available on Amazon.
…with a broken wing
the Human Spirit
poems by Ronaye Hudyma
Whether contemporary, classic, or peppered with Elizabethan eloquence, this profound ensemble of 130 poems is not stationary. They move as if conducted with a maestro’s baton –fluid between the euphoria of life and love, the drama, the anguish of death and loss, with every nuance of human emotion spilling upon the pages.
They are poignant words written with the transparency of youth, gathering maturity and experience, evolving to wisdom, into the spiritual realm.
This is not just poetry. There are a million stories in each poem. Once for each of us. From the teenager discovering their individuality, the young adult challenged by relationships and the world around them, to the Elder denizens of Earth, who cherish their memories as veterans of life, this is a book to be read and reread, a keepsake to console, embrace and affirm your recognition of the truth within yourself that is already there.