Futile

Sridevi Hariharan

In the end, in the rest of the balance sheet of life 
I will write a single word: “futile.” 
Like small pearls strung 
and pressed together in a thread 
Like torrential rain happening 
from water droplets 
in a slab of cloud 
Like many energy particles 
combined in a bolt of lightning 
isn’t the meaning of life summarized 
in one word: “futile?” 
In the end, I can write my remaining summary 
for this sheet of paper 
into a single word: “futile.” 
Oozing out past memories 
that are sweet, bitter, and sour-- 
In the end all became the same taste 
while I nibble and nibble for simply nothing. 
If my eyes well up with tears 
If words are suddenly entangled up in silence 
If I listen to the sounds of the wings of a second 
If my heartbeat loses its rhythm 
If the grief, which doesn’t 
know the reason for its sorrows, 
came to roost somewhere, 
like the firewood trees 
speaking and weeping something 
to the wind’s ears 
to the ears of time which are deaf, 
my heart was whispering—
futile! 
In the last page of the sheet of life 
I can write a single word: 
“futile.”
How many cities and villages have I seen 
under the tent of the sky! 
The trumpets and drums 
in the songs and festivals there 
are different. Different pitches, different rhythms, 
but the truths of the heart are the same! 
In all these things, I searched 
for something that is mine! 
I realized that those, too, are mine! 
Who filled my paths 
with various flavors and aromas? 
While I wandered carelessly 
and aimlessly holding them, 
some magnetic force 
simply washed me to the shore 
like a sea breeze sweeping a boat. 
In the end, the balance sheet of life 
can be summarized in one word: “futile.” 
An undaunted memory walks the old ways with his stick, 
when I remember the one opportunity 
to perform onstage, in one note 
All the dialogue, makeup, and acting—
altogether ruined 
like a merchant buying an old lamp for a price 
and giving a new one
the time walks with me, 
with a new mantra of temptation. 
Are there any dreams that have lost their value? 
What’s left of this life that has value? 
Where is my mirror that rises inside 
the reflection of the moon? That also broke… 
In the end, the balance sheet of life 
can be summed in one word: “futile.”