Send me fresh doors.
New places. New fears
to conquer. Send me visions.
Well-lit streets for a change.
Send me to unfamiliar corners
of my own soul. Curiosity and courage.
Send me new love as adventurous as the old.
A change in landscape even as I stand still
in the old city. Bring me delight.
An original light. Uncontaminated colors
from a home that was never yours,
but someday, may be.
Send me hope that I am not yet dead,
not even on the precipice, age notwithstanding,
Breath inspiration deep into my soul
and let me dance new dances,
a new fire, burning the old wood late into the night,
waiting for the dawn. Sent. Sending, A new day.
A new me, always. In bits and pieces. All at once.
It does not matter.
About this poem
A Prayer Poem
Isaiah 6:8, from the Christian bible reads: Then I heard the Lord asking, “Whom should I send as a messenger to this people? Who will go for us?” I said, “Here I am. Send me.”
I am thinking of the changes in me over the last decade or so. And the changes (I hope) still ahead. My mother was a strong believer that as long as we grow, we are alive. That when we stop, we are not waiting for death. We are already there.
The picture was taken in Rome, Italy.