My grandmother passed on her untarnished eight bangles to my mother,
My mother passed on the same exquisite bangles to me,
I asked my daughter when she got married “do you want these bangles?”
She said “These are pretty, but too tiny for me - I won’t be able to wear them.”
The jeweller had a suggestion-
After all, they are all precious metals! Twenty-four carat!
He turned those unadulterated gold into an elegant necklace.
My heart sank parting with those ornate pieces,
which connected me with the women,
who paved my way so that
I did not have to live the life they did.
Now those bangles shine only on a picture of me in a wedding dress!
Sugary and luscious things are very dear,
And are, cherished by all --the young, old
Placid and the choleric ones as well, mere ;
So are warm smiles and the words of gold,
That more than touch,embalm and console
The lost ,cold, bold, or a grave ruffled soul !
It is an enigma : things sweet today or now
May turn to aversion or an unbearable aught
Once relished and held treasure all far above;
A nod may convey the true relief long sought,
Like a communion between the souls fraught
With varied feel or the foiled bearing distraught !
A peaceful palm can settle what a free cannon
Sword, or missiles aye undo in battles and war
And the victory chaser is often left still in a stun
Like a twinkling, distant yet sure hopeful a star
Heavenly mercy, love and goodness doth beam
From an honest and true genial smile, to deem.
I watched my Mother Earth
naked under acid rain,
her trees like ribs poking through
a thinning green dress.
Once, she was thick with mango scent,
her belly warm with rice,
her rivers laughed like gurgling babies
now she chokes on plastic bottles
and oil spills that shimmer
like toxic jewelry.
They say the sea is rising,
but no one tells you how it feels
to watch a coastline
forget the names
of the children who played there.
My childhood was monsoon wet
thunderstorms licked our skin,
frogs sang in the dusk like priests
now rain arrives like a stranger,
either too late
or all at once,
like a slap.
I am told
to recycle,
to carry a cloth bag,
to plant a tree once a year
like lighting a lamp for the dead.
But the billionaires fly
above the storms,
sipping cold coffee
and dreaming of Mars.
And I
a woman with cracked feet
and a bleeding voice
write poems
no one reads,
weep for birds that no longer return,
and mourn glaciers
as if they were lovers
who never said goodbye.
The sun burns angrier now.
The moon stays away.
And I, too,
am learning how to die slowly,
without asking for too much air.
Mommy, please don't go away,
I want you here, with me to stay.
My little hand, it needs your touch,
I love you, Mommy, oh so much.
The world feels big, and I feel small,
Without you, Mommy, I might fall.
Your arms are safe, your eyes are kind,
Please, Mommy, leave me behind.
I'll be good, I promise, true,
Just please don't leave-I need you too.
I am grateful for my lips
and grateful for my arms too
and I hope they will alway do…
what they were created and meant to do.
Our lips are meant for speaking words of love and kindness
and meant for kissing too….
Our arms are meant for welcoming others
for hugging when someone is happy
and hugging when someone is blue.
To hold is to lay open the chest to cold air
two heartbeats learning their names without language.
Before the first word, a body read another.
The dance was always the hold.
Two spines disagree gently, without letting go.
Arms know what hands don't.
The angle of your shoulder: a measurement I carry.
Distance is not safety,
only loneliness given a cold name.
Winter morning, frost on glass:
I trace where your hand once was.
Grief, an embrace with nowhere left to open.
Gravity is want.
Mass draws all other mass near
not compulsion, but the oldest fact of things:
that to have weight is to matter to the world.
The moon tends toward the tide.
This is different from having no choice.
Some bodies have learned to be afraid of opening.
This does not make the opening wrong.
It makes the learning necessary first.
Your shoulder, at last
not a sound that can be named,
all the weight, set down
in the one place that knows how to hold it.
The arms don't say it.
They do it again.
This is the oldest language
the one that was already speaking
before we knew we had begun.
There is nothing in this world
That could even try to compare
To what occurs while holding you
There's magic in the love we share
The stress life throws at us
It will vanish and disappear
With you nestled in my arms
There's neither worry nor fear
While tangled in each others arm
Our souls dance in heaven above
An unknown peace consumes us
In awe of the true purity of our love
It's the glue holding us together
In good times and the bad ones too
If this love ever fades or starts to die
Lay in my arms and let me hold you
From the early days of your inclusion
in the ranks,
marching in formation.
Some of you fighter pilots, clerical,
galley workers, medics, nurses,
doctors, mechanics.
When fear met courage,
some of you died with your
brothers,
a duty of sacrifice,
sisters in arms.
It takes such bravery to sign up-
women in uniform be proud,
labors of the soul and body,
sweat, determination, grit.
When your career peaks,
you’ll carry your legacy wherever
you are,
as you age in grace,
sisters in arms.
Someday buried with your brethren,
the taps will play for all of you,
in the revered resting place of
rolling lawns.
Sisters and brothers in arms.
I walk into the daylight,
Out of the arms of the night,
I carry hope as a shield,
I journey through the day’s field.
I carry more than I know,
Through this, it's a fight to glow,
Redemption is a long walk,
The night is a prying hawk.
March 13, 2026.
My body hates you
Holding me near enough to your heartbeat
Tucking my hair behind my ear so I can hear your broken voice talk me through the war of your battlefield
Through unmercifully intimate actions you drew me in
Until you decided it was your turn to be cruel, like everyone had been to you
Before so forgirveful as grace followed you
Now written with dirty scars and the ongoing pain of the broken promises behind your eyes
With each stolen glance, follows a gulp of guilt.
Years of regret are to come, both of us know.
At least one of us fought.
My body hates you.
No longer repulsed by your lack of love or care
But instead purely emptied as you walk by
I forget myself sometimes, when I feel my arms reach for you
Hoping you’d catch them once more, carry me away from all the troubles that would soon catch up to us
It’s a longing feeling.
My body hates you but my arms forget
I fall into you
captured within your strong arms
forever I'll be
When crossing the road
or walking the sands
come rain or shine
we'd hold hands
less a habit more by design
I'd gently enfold yours in mine
and while sitting on the sofa
always held you tight
wrapped my arms around you
as we kissed goodnight
then dancing to the music
you were the Belle of the ball
it looks to me we seem to be
in a holding pattern after all
I snuggle blissfully through the night
As your arms wrap me with delight
17 syllables
checked by PS Syllable counter
stars above align
the world around us
a mere afterthought
how divine it is...
to melt into me
sleep on, just sleep
warmth of your skin
thaws the frozen
winter in me
i am rich
as a king,
my dearest
when you're
in my...
arms
Crying,
you held me tight.
Baby's needs are all met,
I can feel your big loving arms.
Your girl.
Time flies,
growing up fast.
Learning to bike and skate,
homework, dance and driving a car.
My dad.
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