Most people view me as a productive person with a busy career. And I suppose it is true. I view myself as a person who spends a lot of energy devising strategies to ward off the ever-looming depression that tries to sabotage me. Today, for example, I have been keeping busy: I finally completed transferring all my files from my old computer to this one; I reorganized the many scores that are stored on my various hard drives; I am now working on my tabla piece, slowly but steadily. But the whole day I feel the shadow overhead and I know that if I let up I am going to get slammed.
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excerpt from my poem titled: it's about time
Father Time is a traveling man
and he carries a very sharp knife
if he finds you slowing down at all
he brings pain back in your life
you can lock your doors, turn out the lights
try to hide from this invader
but he knows when you’re home
knows when you’re alone
and you will face him sooner or later
Father Time is a compassionate man
that is, once you get to know him
bring shattered dreams and broken hearts
he’ll open your eyes if you let him
he’s not a nurse who heals all wounds;
a myth he hopes to bury
but he’ll pour you a beer
lend you his ear
and lighten the load that you carry
love, ~s.
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