The detective steps into the room,
I know the questions that are coming;
No bright lights of intimidation,
yet the anticipation is humming.
We stare at the evidence provided,
trying to pick the story apart,
and put it back together, from the end,
right up until the start.
So detailed statements are being made,
some may even contain the truth,
but the further back, the reasons fade:
it's been a long time since my youth.
Sojourners all
We must fall
Here today, now
No morrow, how?
We fade away
Slowly, if I may
Out of limelight
Not out of sight
It all falls apart
Ere your body, they cart
To the grave
Home of the brave
Soft light drifts away,
broken thoughts like curling smoke,
meaning fades to air
brushing past my fingertips,
silent whispers lost in mist.
Tonight in Uttardangapara, I have no space,
Four shadows in one house, but one name still glows.
They took the floor, but not the beat,
I am Koyel Mandal — brand, not broken
Then glow never dim
Brand never fade.
Uttardangapara, Dhupguri, Jalpaiguri
3rd Year English Honours, Dhupguri Girls' College
shimmering days leave
sun’s cozy warmth and bright shine
fade tiptoeing soft
recollections tucked in heart
pining for amber grandeur
the rhythm changed before the ending came
not with thunder, but with delay.
not with cruelty, but with absence.
calls that once carried warmth became quiet corridors.
Messages arrived like late rain, thin and uncertain.
replies lost their color, their reach, their want.
the distance entered first, then made itself at home.
Sometimes the deepest ache is not betrayal.
It is watching something fade while still holding it gently.
A single second feels like a decade,
As painted visions of your visage fade.
Yet winter passes; golden petals bloom,
Releasing hearts from their protective gloom.
I yearn to feel your timeless, soft caress,
While gently hiding all this phantom sadness.
I place my faith in you, my happiness—
Mi Helecho, praying you return in wholeness.
My Helecho, I miss you so much,
Longing to whisper "I love you" in your ear,
I was in urgent need of your warmest embrace,
Father God, always bless my one and only Helecho.
Because in the lonely bed the virgin trembles, spurring the wind to wake from her sleep before the gates of heaven close, before we fade to ashes — and there is nothing that we do not know the true meaning of - Silivester Kiik (2026).
***
The time has come
the sleepy stars
on the shoulders of the old hut
invite us—go
don't turn away.
Behind—the shadow of anger
tears our footsteps
filling the air with footsteps and dust.
The time has come
the stars never acknowledge
fidelity is theirs
because the flowers
in the bride's courtyard
— realize it
don't prophesy
let us go.
For on the lonely bed
— the virgin trembles
drives the wind
awakens from her sleep
before the gates of heaven close
before we fade to ashes
— and there is nothing
that we don't truly know the meaning of.
Atambua, March 11, 2024
***
Note:
I have turned this poem into a song. However, the song is in Indonesian. You can watch it on my YouTube channel Silivester Kiik.
When we pass judgment, we take God, from His throne,
in our own hurt, and anger, our hearts turn to stone.
Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord our God,
walk in goodness, where er you trod.
For only God is good, you see,
He’s the goodness, inside you and me.
Walk from the goodness of your heart each day,
and to your negative side, you’ll fade each day.
Memory is the only way history doesn't fade into silence.
Memory hums where the shadows lie..
Historic truth that won’t pass by.
Through silent halls of time’s decay..
It keeps the lost from slipping away.
When voices fade and names grow thin..
And dust begins where lives have been.
A spark remains, unseen yet bright..
Guarding stories from endless night.
It walks through dreams on quiet feet..
Where past and present softly meet.
A sacred thread, both frail and strong..
Binding what was to what belongs.
For history aches to disappear..
To fall from mind, to void, to fear.
But memory stands.. the Anzacs flame..
And speaks each forgotten name.
So listen close when stillness calls..
There’s truth that lingers in its halls.
For time may steal what once was known..
But memory never stands alone.
My memories have all but faded
Somehow I still remember how much
Life had really meant to her
“To yearn or to long, which one shall it be?”
I know now that the stress on ‘yearn’ was not due to her accent
“Yearn for a living”
She always said
Let's fade together into wordlessness,
And find once more the reappearing
Of what's come and never gone,
That which never was and always is
And brings the waiting moments
Out beyond the pathless path
To the laughing never death
That keeps us both together still,
As the morning light arrives,
Remembering when we said goodbye
It was only to remind ourselves
That two souls having become one
Never to part from that which always was.
So, we shall be the love that remains
When all strife has come and gone,
And memory is only the wish
For that which has been given us
To embrace forever in our hearts.
Then, we'll see each other always among
The shadows and the light that hold
The peaceful loving of today, tomorrow,
And the undimmed radiance of yesterday.
Let's be together in that one mystery
Which separate forms can never reach,
The kiss of morning, embrace of night,
The always loving tenderness
That puts fear and pain to flight.
May we be what always we have been,
Everything love has ever asked for
Come to greet the day again.
Christopher M. Swan 2009
Million steps
Out the sunrise
Appears my lady
Style for grace
Dressed in lace
We come face
To face
What a surprise
I walk a million steps
Which turns into a run
Give her some time
Oh she so.... Fine
Love her..
Need her. Have
Some fun
Chorus
Supporting her dreams And never fade away
Until my dying day
To continue
Roses are red
or so we’ve been told,
a neat little truth
the world likes to hold.
But I’ve watched them linger
past crimson and flame,
softening into purples,
into vintage, into almost-gone names.
Roses are red
until time has its say,
until petals grow tired
of being bright every day.
I love them in bloom,
all full of their youth,
open and fragrant
and certain of truth.
But there’s something holy
in watching them fall,
in colors that whisper
instead of calling.
They teach me that beauty
is not just the start
it lives in the fading,
the breaking apart.
Roses are red,
yes... briefly, it’s true.
But they’re also most honest
when they’re changing too.
I'm scared to disappear
without leaving a
single trace behind.
Scared that everything
I've done will turn
to ashes.
Scared to be
forgotten
when I'm gone.
For every step
I take
to vanish just
like that—
No matter
how many
I leave behind.
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