Sentinel
©December 25th, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
Golden Christmas lights at the window
Hold a little spark of the sun,
Ward off the widening gulf
Of shadows and darkness without.
In the other room, my beloved
Plays arpeggiated patterns on his guitar,
And the soothing hum of the drier
Accompanies it, like a purring cat
Curled up in front of a bright fire.
Beneath my table, her breathing quiet,
Our dog sleeps, content with her life,
Knowing we are all home, fed, happy.
The Christmas tree is bright,
Lit from within, and holding memories
And little treasures we collected
For, and with our daughter,
Who delights in this season,
And brings us delight.
A fruit tart awaits, and sweet music
Singing together, playing guitars,
We write out the story of our daily lives.
This singing, our punctuation mark,
Completes each day, give clarity.
I have no great ambition, these days.
I am content. What that means,
I cannot tell, but I am content.
Is contentment a sense of balance,
And if so, can any balance last?
When there are weights added
To one side, or the other,
I shall inch forward on the balance,
Or move back, or sit in the middle.
I will make it hold steady,
As I’d hold a cup of water steady
When climbing steep flight of stairs.
And when things come crashing down,
As they surely must, and do,
I will find a way to even out the weights
On either side, and get on.
I seek nothing, even as I seek something.
In this contradiction, standing tall,
Steady as a sentinel,
Right at the middle,
Stands Truth.
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