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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i am looking
at winter wonderland
dreaming of sunshine
my motherland
Christmas lights
are still glowing
while the strong one
cries in mourning
with a heavy heart
shattered
gone forever
someone who mattered
does the drop of water know
it helped make an ocean
does it ever thaw
a heart frozen
Photo by Zoltan Tasi on Unsplash
Another beautiful poem and stunning video.
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 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.
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
Beautiful poem and artwork, Steve.
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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prayer flags whispered your name
no face to see
looked everywhere
let it be
embers know patience
matter of time before it becomes flame
so much solace
in simply knowing your name
Picture credit:
https://www.pexels.com/photo/assorted-color-flags-under-gray-clouds-1685842/
