With no companion to my mood,
Against the wind as it should be,
I walk, but in my solitude
Bow to the wind that buffets me.
A New Version: 1980
What is that little black thing I see there
in the white?
Walt Whitman
One
Out of poverty
To begin again:
......
Low was our pretty Cot : our tallest Rose
Peep'd at the chamber-window. We could hear
At silent noon, and eve, and early morn,
The Sea's faint murmur. In the open air
Our Myrtles blossom'd; and across the porch
Thick Jasmins twined : the little landscape round
Was green and woody, and refresh'd the eye.
It was a spot which you might aptly call
The Valley of Seclusion ! Once I saw
(Hallowing his Sabbath-day by quiteness)
......
Man was made of social earth,
Child and brother from his birth;
Tethered by a liquid cord
Of blood through veins of kindred poured,
Next his heart the fireside band
Of mother, father, sister, stand;
Names from awful childhood heard,
Throbs of a wild religion stirred,
Their good was heaven, their harm was vice,
Till Beauty came to snap all ties,
......
The Frost performs its secret ministry,
Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry
Came loud--and hark, again ! loud as before.
The inmates of my cottage, all at rest,
Have left me to that solitude, which suits
Abstruser musings : save that at my side
My cradled infant slumbers peacefully.
'Tis calm indeed ! so calm, that it disturbs
And vexes meditation with its strange
And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood,
......
My emotional ineptitude has led me to intellectual escapism,
My numb body is ironed by the oppressive walls of an inhumane job,
My troubled sleep has been ongoing for so long,
Occasionally I get to revel in a fleeting reprieve,
The entire world seems devoid of meaning
Loneliness has seeped into every pore of my being,
Everyone seems so distant, so emotionally unavailable,
There's no more hope in me,
Do I find strength in my alienating solitude?
There's no meaning in suffering,
......
walking through sunset
vividly i see a beauty if forms
i breathe and think — inhaling the dirty air
which brushes past against my skin
envisaging a life that one may please
to have . . .
all stones crushing beneath my feet
nothing i feel but a heart-clenching sore
misty-eyed as i reminisce
......
I did not sing today.
I walked long,
But there was no song
As I went about my way.
I did not talk today.
There was no friend
With smile to lend
And kind thought steered my way.
......
People often ask me
what are you doing, where are you going.
Well actually I don't know what I'm doing
I don't know where I'm going.
I can still feel my feet on the ground
tomorrow the weather may wear a different gown
despite a date for measured crown.
West to east
Laiden without feast
provide and chase the least.
......
He tastes solitude
on Gama,
Savoury to his buds.
He is a bird,
Pearching hymns,
He is a fig
Among fronds.