The Big Parade (new poem)

The Big Parade (new poem)
by Tim Kavi

If life is like a big parade

sometimes we watch it

without joining in

other times we walk in it,

swimming to the rhythms

of the marching band

sometimes we drive in it

twirl batons in it

prancing to the drums in it

we dance and clown in it

shake and shimmy in it

or throw candies to the crowd

but we must always

revel in it,

for in the Big Parade

we are marching, 

just for the fun of it!

Poet's Afterword--as we head into November, I'm always looking forward to a big parade, like they have here in NY on the holiday, (as you might see in the film, Miracle on 34th Street; 1947) or in the streets of your town. In this simple poem, (as a departure for me), we have a simple message, perhaps a double meaning, but I hope you'll join me in the celebration of our mutual existence, in the Big Parade!--Namaste, TK.

Afterthought: Maybe...just maybe as I'm looking at the Big Parade passing by my window, I wonder if I am looking at something real in and of itself, the object perceived, just a balloon, or...at what it represents? Or both...in some Gestalt switch?

Chance Encounters Across the Narrow Ridge (New Poem)

Chance Encounters Across the Narrow Ridge (New Poem)
by Tim Kavi

walking there whether in spirit

or in my body

my shadow grows in the illuminated light

or even the darkened night

yet, there are two souls there;

a single glance across the crowded terminal

or beside the rusted iron of a forgotten bridge,

the quiet collision of two strangers

where the noise of the world collapses

into the singular geometry of an I and a Thou.

it happens across the sprawling arc of a lifetime,

in the slow accumulation of decades

when paths cross once and never again,

leaving a permanent echo in the ribs.

it happens across the rotation of a year,

in autumn light striking a doorway

where a brief conversation alters the weather of the mind,

turning an ordinary Tuesday into a landmark.

it happens over the tightening rings of weeks,

at the corner of a market or a dim library aisle,

when a paused step and a shared question

open a door that cannot be shut.

sometimes it is compressed into a single day,

an afternoon spent talking with someone;

one whose name is never learned,

yet whose presence reorders the internal landscape completely.

and sometimes it shrinks down further,

into a minute or two of eye contact on a halting train,

a sudden suspension of routine

where destiny makes its quiet, undeniable call:

to recognize the infinite dignity of another breathing soul

before the doors slide open

and the crowd sweeps you back into the current.

where life comes calling

kindred souls, or someone so different

you would never have dreamed of knowing

there is the light of the sacred YOU

the being I am called to know.