Prose, poetry, fiction, and rambles from people with a bit too much time on their hands.

ballade 1

In this instance, in this moment, I can hear the roar of automobile engines mingle with the fleeting wind.
It’s the one thing that I notice as I sat on a worn bench; it was a lukewarm autumn day.
Clouds glide across my view, shapeless as they are, patterns by which I couldn’t comprehend.
The field was silent as I lay.
My restless mind calmed for a mere second.
It resumed its activity, reminding me of a beauty that could only be described as ethereal.
Of a someone, a sometime, a somewhere, all of which I could barely convey.
I somehow see what’s beautiful in things that are ephemeral.

Surrounded by the stars and the cadence of music, in an universe that was trying its best to expand.
A night that was meant to be remembered, a night that was to be interpreted as it may.
A smile, an exchange of glances, something that couldn’t have been predicted beforehand.
You and I gazed into the stars, watching as the night became far from bland.
We only had each other for a day.
Time didn’t slow, it didn’t act in ways that could be defined as atypical.
We were never to meet again, a one-time thing, as they always say.
I somehow see what’s beautiful in things that are ephemeral.

I found myself at the point where we kissed first, a moment I could never comprehend.
Much like the sunset, much like a ballad of dulcet tones, our experiences came and went as they may.
There was no other meaning, no ulterior motive, a situation on which nothing could append.
A singular moment; something so rare and under appreciated, much to my dismay.
For all the talk of something significant, something that lasts, one forgets the things you find on the way.
They’re as essential.
I need not time, I need moments, I need things that can be recalled on on some day, in some way.
I somehow see what’s beautiful in things that are ephemeral.

The wind flew by my ear, and I tried to listen to the messages, the messages wind loves to convey.
It had nothing to say, after all.
There was nothing else to do, nothing else but to bask in the sunlight before they sky turned gray.
I somehow see what’s beautiful in things that are ephemeral.

[note: I’ve been writing alot of poetry lately because I’ve been thinking in spastic bursts…lately.]


2 Comments on “ballade 1”

  1. M :] says:

    heyyyy ananta! i like this poem /ballade
    it seems like its deep and from the heart
    ohh and i like the use of vocab :] now i might acctually remember that one b/c of your awesome poem! lol
    anyways your amazin


  2. Ananta says:

    ballades are a type of poetry.

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