Thoughts raging,
scrambling for the upper berth,
Memories churning,
surrounding the eye of the storm,
My palms are folded-
Namaskar,
No, I am not praying.
Stillness.
I see
fingers weathered by age.
nail polish, chipped at the edges.
I close my eyes,
greet unknown shadows
that change shape,
as I turn out the light.
Calm, must stay Calm,
Before the Storm.
The past cannot be undone,
the present, so wasted,
the future, yet to be Born