Carpe Diem

He sat there on the bench, a young man: quiet, disheveled, utterly lost. He appeared to have reached the end of his tether. The baking sun had long since gone to its rest; the street lights were trying to act as designated hitters for the big hitter. It was the time when loneliness is heightened, and so too is depression.

As he sat there wrapped in his thoughts, an old man slowly approached him.

“May I,” said the old stranger.
“Be my guest.”
“Worries?”
“Yeah.”

“Thank God for worries. See, the only people that do not have worries are the ones in the grave. Problems, bills, worry—these are all something that keep us alive. Count problems as blessings because they keep your juices flowing. ”

This happened to someone I know; someone who almost did not have a person to talk to him; someone who did not realize the beauty of life; someone who was that close to calling it a day. Years later, I wrote this poem that tried to capture the essence of that remarkable incident.

Carpe Diem

Tramping through the woods,
on a bright summer day,
I inhale large gulps of the clean fresh air.
The only sounds are the schussing of the leaves,
and the occasional trilling of a bird.

A leaf breaks off,
slowly riding the current of air,
dipping and rising,
finally falling to the ground,
to be tramped by other feet, some day.

Above,
in the clear blue skies,
the falcon hovers against wispy clouds,
a grim reminder to the unwary fish
cavorting in the cold, clear waters of the lake below.

Searching in the dark,
turning over muck and filth,
refusing to accept the sun.
Creatures of the night,
surviving in the shadows.
living our lonesome, lonely lives
in the crowded subways of time

Riaz