Peace

The wind that carries in it,
The cold of the distant glacier,
That melts everytime it hears your name,
A ballad of sweet symphony,
And the Oh so petite heart of mine,
Why do you beat so more,
The wind that carries in it,
Your perfume made of gold,
It breaks the chains ancient,
Rusted and crippled with dust,
The wind brings me peace,
Just like that kiss of yours……

Carnations

A flower slowly that hugs the air,
Opening up its petal for the outside world,
A melody that catches ears adrift,
And makes them wonder the soil it stands in,
Clenching the little pebbles like the hands of a newborn,
Its almost miraculous that nothingness creates something spectacular,
Out of things extraordinary,
That mingle around the dust settled,
A similar kind of love,
A man brings for his woman,
Sweet, discrete, wrapped in layers of lavender,
That slowly unravel and fills the air with fragrances eternal,
He holds her hands with the utmost sincerity,
Gentle and firm like the tendrils of Fuchsia,
How hard a man can love,
They are quick to ask,
Just like the oysters buried in the sand,
They bear pearls spectacular,
It kills them to love her,
They rejoice as she comes out pristine,
For the world to see,
Admire and fall in love,
He lies on the ground motionless,
For his love is complete,
For the world to see,
A man loves discretely,
Just like the air that hugs a flower slowly,
Its fragrance that travels around the globe,
Like carnations in the sea……..

Best friend

I wish I could hear you speak,
A sweet slow symphony,
Music to ears, the orchards that bloom,
Fruits incessant over the ledges of rainbow,
Brewed eloquently, just like a perfect rhythm,
But I carry you in my heart,
That sometimes remind me of you,
As I caress the winds and lay down my palm,
Thinking of you,
My old best friend……

One Step at a time….

I shiver with the cold incense,
Sometimes that light up my petite insecurities,
Brewed slowly inside of me,
In places secluded from the obvious world,
And tether me onto a thread minuscule,
Almost invisible,
It becomes a daily conundrum,
The blanket doesn’t warm me anymore,
And the fan spews spitfire,
I drift steadily,
Sometimes away and the other to,
The goal I had seen in times ancient,
My timelines still blurred,
Although I move, capture and achieve,
One step at a time……

The little ant…

This little ant was the inspiration for the above poem. I captured this one as I was sitting in my garden, trying to admire the little things in life…..

Coin

I sip slowly,
For my mind is a catharsis of the fast,
Purging with the intense music,
It sometimes hear,
Up in flames,
Or the mask of entitlement,
It bears fruits drugged with immaculate perfection,
That bereft my senses of their glory,
Same as the wind that sometimes settle,
After a storm,
Aren’t destruction and construction the same sides of a coin………..??

Criminal

I wish it were this easy,
The soft music a harp plays,
A singer that matches its frequency,
And you close your eyes to its tune,
I wish it were this very moment,
The one we are always in,
That happiness strikes us in place never been touched before,
And silences become simple,
Not something to run from,
Not something to eradicate,
The flow of words would sometimes be easy,
The mind coherent with the body,
I like to believe that someday,
A day not yet named,
Someday when the sound of water running,
The erratic whistle of the distant engine,
Or the shrieking noise that pierces my mind,
Won’t be something that crawls my skin,
And bring me anxiety that knows no bound,
I like to believe that day would come,
When I am at my lowest,
And the earth begins to close upon my sky,
For if hope isn’t what a being can put up to,
It’s criminal to see the light……

Ink

My bed knows stories,
A night when the windows,
Splurged cold winds onto my bare chest,
Shivers cracked my heels,
A weight heavy,
An anchor tied to a ship,
It knows my stories,
Mixed with the whiskey I spilled,
Glass broke and pierced my skin,
Still embedded in my stomach,
The marks stretched,
I sleep on it most of the times,
Belly on the bottom,
For it brings me lullabies,
Simple, just like the tick tock of my clock,
My bed knows stories,
Most of it,
Just like the ink I emboss these days…..

Slow….

I am slow these days,
Blood turning viscous each day,
And the skin to the color yellow,
The breath falls short as the leaves turn red,
Sky speaks stories of the night,
I turn to the mirror these days,
When the light creeps out my front window,
Scaring away the little eccentricities my consciousness carries with her each day,
And I hold onto my fears,
The world trembles and jiggles the mind,
I am slow these days,
Maybe I ran too fast….

Song of the night….

Last night as I was sleeping,
She crossed my mind,
The cold sea breeze that unfurled her hair,
Slowly gyrating along the rotation of the earth,
Her eyes watched the distance sun set in the horizon,
Murmuring in her ears the stories lost to the ocean,
She laughed as the water touched her toes,
Leaving the cold sand behind her ankles,
And cried as a shrill numbed her ears,
I have seen it all,
I like to tell myself,
The days when I wake up,
Her presence a somber song of the night…….

Stones

I see you walking by the stars,
Holding your breath for the Sun to see,
For one life they say is enough for mortals like us,
Blood and bones walk the scorching earth,
Bleeding to find a space among the legendary,
Sometimes despair, the other hopes for light,
I see your face in these people sometimes,
Lost, waiting to be found,
Searching for their home,
That would eventually bring them peace,
Peace that would cure their internal storms,
And you could sleep easily,
For hours that you may desire,
No thought of what to do next,
What to become,
What further to sacrifice,
Just sleep with eyes closed,
Even on a floor made of stones……

Bed…

It slowly takes over me,
The melodious cacophony of the night,
Dorned with scents velvety,
It pierces my heart,
Into many pieces,
The few I bleed everyday when I wake up,
Onto the side of the bed,
You are not here,
I plunge myself into oblivion,
The brothels sometimes hear my stories,
For my mind knows those bodies aren’t you,
This wretched vessel still needs a beating heart,
A touch not even remotely close to as yours,
My eyes deceive me often,
And I see myself falling into abyss,
Every time a figure resembling you,
Touches me, comes even close,
For a sweet serenade the night sings,
I hold onto strangers,
They kill me softly,
And I close my eyes,
As breath becomes my only enemy,
The other side of my bed,
The only side of my bed……..

Woman enjoying foggy mountain morning from the hotel of Sa Pa, Vietnam

Lonely Nights

I fear lonely nights,
The grey moon that sometimes mocks me,
He has his Earth,
The land to his eclipses,
The haunting wind that disturbs the peace of sleeping villages,
Crawls under my skin,
It seems as if it is an object of habit,
The rigid discipline it pertains itself to,
Up and down below my chest,
It dances even on nights when the moon hides away,
And on days perturbed by jetstreams cold,
I walk through graveyard of my kind self,
The one trampled upon by anyone who made an appearance,
My pigmented, rustic slate,
Once pristine, welcoming to all,
I fear lonely lights,
And the days that come after it,
For night passes with a gleaming monotony,
An affair of eclectic proportions,
And births the day my heart is no stranger to,
The screeching, growl I am used to,
A humming in my ears,
An ecstasy of similar kind,
The one weightlessness might bring,
You know you won’t fall,
But want to,
I fear lonely nights,
The only constant…..

Grey

I cares the morning with my bare chest,
And lay it open for the birds to rest,
Their wings frozen from the jetstreams cold,
Stomachs growling for food,
For their mouths have remained dry,
Water became frost and fell as hail,

I dance in the sunlight and follow the dust,
The grains of sand that settle on my night stand,
Every morning though I shrug them off,
Some crystals enter my mouth,
My dreams sometimes keep it wide open,

I see the rainbows when it doesn’t rain,
For the water in my eyes clobber my vision,
And leak through crevices set sometimes in cement,
My faith was strong,
My love knew no bound,

The mystery this world is amazes me most of the times,
Sometimes possesses me with fears unknown,
Ugly, deranged and full of scars,
The truth is inevitable I tell myself,
For choice I rarely have,

I sing sometimes to the ghosts of my past,
The lovers those betrayed,
And the lovers that I did wrong,
They taught me many things,
Letting go off the sail once a while,
Sometimes guiding it through the atolls,

But I sometimes close my eyes,
And think of days when I would cry,
Hugging the pillow close to my mouth,
Barely breathing,
For a man must sometimes poke their subconscious,
It carries secrets deep within,
Only to see how far they have come,
The chipped skin on their feet,
The hair that had turned grey…..

Dreams real….

I had a dream,
While I slept,
And walked through the earth,
It showed me places of happiness,
The ones that beam of glory,
Brought me gifts of the sound,
The space and the sky,
The dream was surreal sometimes,
The other set down with the rising Sun,
But the dream stayed with me,
When the temporary shifted to dust,
And the few sediments remained,
That stayed with me and stay still,
As I nurtured myself and carried myself through the fog,
One can only imagine the peace such a dream could bring,
When the letters gain the spirit,
And adorn vessels tangible,
You see the sunlight,
And it doesn’t burn you down….

Snowman….

The snow fell down the sky onto her lap,
And to her heart deep,
Secrets buried in the summer had started to breathe,
As winter gave her the relief absconding since many nights,
She opened her eyes to watch the snowflake rest on her shoulders,
The trees shielding her from the hail,
A Snowman she had started to make,
For her secrets burned her chest in light amorphous,
And lay havoc to her intestines,
The Snowman emerged from the ashes of her past,
Eyes of future, Hands in present,
He slowly grew a soul,
Maybe her offspring, 
An affair untold,
He poured rainbows over her secrets,
Let mist work its way through,
The secrets now out in the open,
She didn’t care,
Freedom touched her feet,
And glory sang ballads,
The winter was kind to her,
She hid behind the clothes unfit,
And the warmth of the fireplace cold,
The Snowman was her,
And entirely hers,
Sleep eventually came back to her,
The Snowflake had reached her lungs…………..

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

Chains

The chains creep into my bed at night,
They slowly take over my feet first,
Making it hard to move,
Status quo is what they demand,
But I never sought out to them,
The letters I wrote in times of desperation,
Did not even,
I try to break them everytime the sun brushes against my window,
Rusted, toxic, clinging to my skin,
Generations before me,
Generations after,
Some see these chains as my birth mark,
The one I have to live with,
Forever and after,
My life a privilege,
They say,
I hammer these chains,
Try to jump,
Bite them with all my might,
Some teeth fell out,
My hands bleeding,
But they never break,
For they are made of what men said,
And wrote for men to follow,
The truthful, the pristine,
Or a devious plan…..