An Early, Original Birthday Poem — to Myself

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With my 45th! Birthday fast approaching, I find myself musing on mortality, morality and all the hard work that remains to fulfill my promises to myself and become whom I hope to be.

Below, an original, intimate prose poem which recognizes that the personal is universal, and we are all longing to meet our True Self.

Before that, a couple of Confucius quotes on the passage of time & how to make the best use of it:

At 15 I set my heart on learning; at 30 I firmly took my stand; at 40 I had no delusions; at 50 I knew the Mandate of Heaven; at 60 my ear was attuned; at 70 I followed my heart's desire without overstepping the boundaries of right.

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Old age is good and pleasant. You are gently shouldered off the stage, but then you are given such a comfortable front stall as spectator.*

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Encounter

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I stirred in the small hours of the morning. Sensing a presence, I did not return to sleep, but ventured into the living room, apprehensively.
There, by the balcony, sat a familiar figure — cross-legged and reading in the semi-dark, with just the milky moonlight for company,
I do not know how I knew, but I did. I recognized the intruder, at once, with a mixture of dread and affection.
“I’m sorry,” were the only words to leave my lips. “I’m sorry, too,” replied my longed-for-self, with a sense of infinite kindness and pity
He did not rise to greet me and, somehow, spoke without words, transmitting what was needed.

Catching his glistening eye, the caring made me cry. “You’ve taken every detour to avoid me,” he gently reproached. “For every step I've taken towards you, you've taken two back”.
I did not know what to say in my defense (how could I protest against myself?) “I missed you,” he said, and feared you’d forgotten me.”
His admonishment was tender as a kiss. “I visit from time to time, and hope you’ll ask me to say.” I knew what he said was true, and felt that way, too.
“I worried,” he continued, “if I postponed this visit, we might never meet, in this life… and so I came to sharpen your appetite.”
He rose and moved towards me. “There’s no need to speak, return to sleep. But when you rise, try to remember me. And to keep awake.”

—Yahia Lababidi

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(Photos: Mine)