BB Grey–musings

armor against the daggers of the world

I have these beads, worn smooth,

heavy with the weight of grief,

prayer beads, perhaps,

oiled by the endless rolling through sprocket teeth,

like fingertips tracing the edges of a forgotten dream.

They lie in wait, recoiled upon a black lacquered table,

ready to take their place at the start of each day,

wrapped around a vulnerable wrist—

armor against the daggers of the world,

against enemies that steal, kill, and destroy.

Or are they love beads?

It’s hard to tell.

What do I love? What loves me?

They cling in silence,

lay heavy with noise,

soothe and comfort,

lull and deceive,

a calm-less wake in a sea of unrest.

Perhaps they are mala beads,

a Trojan horse of malevolent intent,

hell-bent on tethering the mind,

on keeping it from wandering

into the torment that waits at the helm.

A oneness with a universe of destruction?

Or a fragile thread to something beyond?

As I spin them through my fingertips,

moving them along their endless loop,

I wonder:

Am I pulling them toward me,

or pushing them away?

The movement is clear,

but the intention blurs—

one draws near,

the other pushes away.

…

I have these smooth rosewood spheres,

strung together by an elastic, translucent tether.

They greet me each morning,

exactly where I left them,

a familiarity that breeds not comfort,

but contempt.