reconciliation

inconstant light

amidst_s

A childhood reconfigured, a child who could never be,
with cardboard carts of stones and stamps,
bundled with a string, with wooden wired
contrivances hidden from the world,
and yet the others whispered in his ears.

They told him of a place where wild basalt seas
crashed down upon the shattered mirror beaches,
and sleepless carriages fled the stations of existence.

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the letter

Another beautiful poem and stunning video.

inconstant light

It snowed along the night, piling up
to just beneath the window sills,
mostly printouts, black and white,
so we shaped an outdoor dining set
of ink and paper, and took our morning coffee
on the balcony.

Orchilla dearest, you fill my thoughts
with wasted words
that I will not share with you.
And yet for lunch, as a special surprise,
I shall prepare spaghetti macramé al dente.

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a flower for you

beautiful-bloom-blooming-666839.jpg

 

a short note conveyed the news

she is no more

i loved her from the time i was a child

can’t understand why she had to go

her kind beautiful eyes

melted pain

gave so much away

no thought of gain

her laughter

like innocent playful rain

no deception

in a world insane

her gentle kisses

for her chosen son

her hugs

bolder than the summer sun

how do you know

angels look upon you from above

how do you remember someone

who lived to love

 

Note: Dedicated to Hema Aunty, R.I.P.

As long as there are flowers, you will live in many hearts.

Photo by Khanh Le from Pexels

 

let it be

 

landscape-1192669__480.jpg

 

i want to have a conversation

a courageous one

share legends

about more than one sun

no fear of judgement

many ways to know

hearts guide us

to where we need to go

but we hold back

compromise

work past midnight

miss the glorious sunrise

how can the one i have never seen

mean so much to me

life and its mysteries

let it be…let it be

 

Photo Credit: Pixabay

exits

Beautiful poem and artwork, Steve.

inconstant light

three_tomatoes_s

Crossroads on the valley floor, a sign,
a part-time river colored laundry blue,
and by the water in a town, the air is scented
with hot absence, molecules in chaos
ignoring windward motion.

The parkland’s plaque is dull, I make it shine,
reflect the woken world with Brasso,
and polish out its words:

You wonder why you’re still asleep.
Your other wonders why he’s still awake.

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