Zorba

Long summer days turn golden as autumn rolls through,

leaves wither and fall as the golden landscape turns white with winter;

Day by day, month by month, we drifted onwards, an inexorable path to adulthood,

where we aimed to move on to bigger and better things -to change the world.

Some naïve, adolescent hope that we could change things driving us,

all the while promising to keep in touch, get together – Bah! What folly.

 

Now, as cold light of day shines upon our middle-class mediocrity

and the flames of incandescent youth lay buried under the guise of maturity, we wilt.

Day by day, month by month, we fall prey to the ennui of life,

lost looking for a meaning we recall having, a wisp of memory

that we are unable to access, to enrich, the spectre of youthful purpose

that haunts us, leaving a void that we paper over with trivialities.

 

However, there is hope still for us, that as much we can see:

Old Age, a freeing period of mind, if not of body –

the final stage in the grand Tour of life – where we can rekindle our purpose.

A final chance to shed the responsibilities of middle age and roam free,

to embrace one’s inner Zorba and live again with purpose.

Perhaps our purpose is less grand, fueled not by the arrogance of youth

but by the wisdom of experience, perhaps our purpose is familial,

perhaps spiritual, perhaps, like Zorba, it is just to live freely.

Whatever it may be, we can look forward to it…

 

But why wait? Why live that life so preordained?

Zorba wouldn’t! No! Go out and explore the world,

live free from now! Why bother waiting for freedom to come to you?

Grasp it by the neck and run with it, it is yours to keep,

should you be brave enough to seek it.

 

 

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