58. Gambit

Posted on May 26, 2011 by iPoem

Review of Gambit

Gambit is emotionally raw, direct, and charged with righteous fire. But that’s exactly why it belongs in the collection — as a cathartic counterpoint to the more philosophical or transcendent pieces. Not every poem in a soul’s journey is about acceptance and transcendence. Some are about drawing a line in the sand.

Summary

Gambit is a fierce, no-holds-barred reckoning — a poem of release, reclamation, and karmic justice. It reads like a spiritual exorcism, spoken not from the pulpit of serenity, but from the battlefield of survival. In tone and intent, it diverges from the contemplative subtlety of earlier poems in the collection — and that’s precisely its function.

Here, the poet breaks from introspection to speak directly to a perpetrator, unmasking narcissism, cruelty, and emotional abuse with unflinching clarity. Yet even in its anger, the poem carries metaphysical depth: the concept of karmic return, divine justice, and spiritual closure underpins every word.

Why This Poem Matters

In a collection where soul evolution, forgiveness, and transformation are recurring themes, Gambit stands out as a vital expression of the moment before forgiveness — the raw rupture that must be acknowledged before healing can begin.

The repeated line:

“Yes, it’s your turn next”
functions like both mantra and curse — echoing the ancient belief in moral balance: “Reap what you have sown / As above, so below.” This isn’t revenge, but reclamation of power.

There’s also a spiritual authority here, a quiet invocation:

“And it is done, Amen.”
— closing the poem like a ritual seal. The speaker is not merely lashing out, but formally severing ties with an abuser and relinquishing the karmic burden back to its source.

Metaphorically, the poem uses stark imagery to describe the emotional coldness of the subject:

“Frozen-hearted Snow Queen/King / Of perpetual frost bite”
— a vivid depiction of emotional numbness weaponised as control.

What elevates Gambit beyond a personal venting piece is its balance of emotional release with spiritual insight. This is a poem about accountability — personal and cosmic. The speaker doesn’t wish suffering on the other, but places faith in a greater law — “the voice of long distance instant karma,” as justice delivered by the universe.

In Conclusion

Gambit may be one of the most confrontational poems in the collection, but that doesn’t make it out of place. Rather, it serves as a necessary shadow moment — the storm before the calm. Every spiritual journey involves confrontation with darkness, both within and outside ourselves. And sometimes, spiritual growth begins with saying: enough is enough.

For readers who have endured emotional abuse or spiritual betrayal, Gambit may well be one of the most validating and empowering pieces in the book. It reminds us that love is not blind — and that true healing sometimes begins with walking away.

43. Bus Stop

Posted on August 14, 2006 by iPoem

Review of Bus Stop

In “Bus Stop,” the poet turns inward, slowing the tempo to trace the contours of a quiet but deeply charged encounter between two people navigating the aftershocks of intimacy. This isn’t a story of new love beginning, but of old love redefined—an attempt to meet not in nostalgia or regret, but in the present tense of understanding, support, and fragile reconnection.

Unlike earlier poems that capture the thrill of romantic ignition (“Stars In Your Eyes” or “First Kiss”), “Bus Stop” is subtler, more introspective. It opens on a grey Monday—symbolic, perhaps, of emotional uncertainty or the heaviness of what’s unspoken. The meeting is not accidental but arranged, hinting at a shared desire to bridge the space between who they were and who they might still be to one another.

She arrives late. They walk. She’s tense. But he is patient. And slowly, as if retracing steps both literal and emotional, a quiet comfort begins to return. What’s striking here is how little is said outright; instead, the weight rests in the gestures—in the shortcut walk through familiar streets, the thoughtful planning together, the length of the hug, the detail of that remembered bus stop after a party months before.

The poet layers past and present with effortless grace. The “star-shaped fairy lights” from the earlier encounter glimmer again—not as romantic idealism, but as a memory now reframed by time and emotional evolution. The stranger’s shout—“I love you!”—adds a surreal, cinematic moment of unexpected levity, lifting the heaviness just long enough to allow a smile. The bus arrives. They part. Not in heartbreak, but in mutual recognition.

Summary of Themes

“Bus Stop” captures the emotional tightrope of post-breakup friendship—the effort to remain connected without slipping into old patterns, and the longing for sincerity amid changed circumstances. The poem acknowledges the residue of tenderness without romanticising it, offering a mature reflection on how love can shift into something gentler, if both people are willing to meet each other in the liminal space between what was and what now is.

The poem also continues the broader themes woven through this sequence: memory, emotional vulnerability, and the intimate significance of small moments. Where earlier poems pulsed with flirtation and discovery, “Bus Stop” pauses to ask what it means to care for someone beyond desire. What remains after love? What shape can connection take when stripped of seduction, drama, or expectation?

Conclusion

In “Bus Stop,” the poet demonstrates a rare emotional subtlety, allowing a quiet encounter to speak volumes. The restrained tone, familiar details, and understated emotional shifts form a narrative of quiet courage: two people choosing to show up, despite everything. It’s not a grand reconciliation, nor a painful goodbye. Instead, it’s something more grounded—and perhaps more difficult—a moment of realignment, where respect and memory coexist. In this way, “Bus Stop” continues the poet’s commitment to rendering modern relationships in all their beautiful, awkward, necessary complexity.