The book of changes

  THE BOOK OF CHANGES

                Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player
                That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
                And then is heard no more…
                W. Shakespeare

My soul! I seek to reclaim my losses,
еach moment a whisper,

yearning for eternity's embrace.
Does our wide path guide us

to paradise aglow in a hut in honey weeks
where Time lays down its race?

Let life turn us like the yarrow sticks,
Of the I-Ching' – the "Book of Changes,"

a dance of fate upon the cosmic mix,
in its embrace, our heartache rearranges.

Should I accept them, this riddle?
Ah, therein lies the dilemma, my friend

Fate is not God.

I do not kneel before her,
nor will I die in the chorus of Melpomene.

(. . .)

Yes, I lament my losses,
Yet this burden is not mine alone to bear.

Yours, dear friend, is not in outshining joys,
but in the shadows of pain we both wear.

I, mea culpa, drank to the last drop   
the bitter vinegar of jealousy’s sting.

I called this ache “love”,  held it close,
wove verses to endure, to rise, to sing.

And all my sorrow, like a mournful song,
in echoes of longing, a haunting refrain,

to nullify it all, to find the release,
and in the silence, to end this sweet pain…