Long Familiar Poems
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I put my arms around you, your heart melts into mine;
the borders of your anguish I can easily define.
There is no need for language explaining agony,
I perceive a griever’s heartache in black telepathy.
Your landscape is familiar, I know one similar
in the trackless barren places, in the lonely city spaces
where people neither know nor care.
I gleaned shriveled fruit from withered vines,
crushed, distilled, and drank the acrid wine.
I climbed the treeless summit, trekked the tundra of despair,
heard the mountain winds dark harmony
to a mourning mother’s keening prayer.
I know because my heart has heard
within its depths your soundless words.
Copyright, July 11, 2026
A door opens into night,
and the sky draws near
as though it has been waiting
for someone to notice
the shimmer gathering at its seams.
There,
where darkness should be whole~
a staircase rises,
each step a soft pulse of light,
as though memory itself
has learned to glow.
I place my foot on the first step
and the world below loosens~
not falling away,
but gently releasing its hold,
like a hand unclasping
without sorrow.
The air shifts.
Patterns of stars rearrange themselves,
quiet brightness drifting
through the space around me~
a warmth that feels like
something once whispered
but never fully heard.
Each step remembers something:
a moment I almost understood,
a tenderness I nearly named,
a question that once brushed my shoulder
and drifted on.
Upward,
the stars brighten
as if recognizing me~
not my shape,
but the ache I carry
like a small ember
I’ve kept alive for years.
When I reach the landing,
there is no throne,
no revelation,
no final answer waiting.
Only a soft expanse of starlight,
a horizon that feels like a promise,
and a presence~
quiet, familiar,
standing just beyond the next breath.
I stand without moving,
the quiet widening in its gentle way.
A small clarity rises~
the journey upward
was the message all along.
He was wearing a T-shirt and blue jeans
She was watching him with a real enthusiasm
He was listening to a morbid song, a moment of past
She was undecided if she should hug him softly, one more time
It was painful to watch her dear father so distant and unmindful
She was ready to hold him with all her warmth, her nonstop chattering
To her surprise, he then looks her in her eyes and said,“my little girl,listen to me“
“Close your eyes and imagine a moment with me, the happiest moment.”
She closed her eyes, and silence everywhere as if there was no more need of talking or asking questions
After a while, she heard the polite familiar voice, “Got it? Would you like to share it with me, cutie pie?”
She was hesitant, cleared her throat, and asked, “Should I tell you my precious moment, Baba?”
“Indeed,” he replied.
“When I am with you, I feel like I am traveling fast through clouds.
Beautiful, marvelous clouds!”
She opened her eyes
They were traveling through the impeccable clouds!
Only he was distant and far away,
The sadness of time let the little girl withered away.
She closed her eyes again
And blindfolded dreams were rushing to her
To find another brief moment eventually.
“Could you open up the eyes, please?” A voice whispered
She was too afraid to do so. She was distant and absent-minded
She was listening to a morbid song, a moment of past.
And coincidentally, he was wearing a T-shirt and blue jeans.
Brutal honesty can hurt
But nothings worse than disappointment
Losing friends to ignorance
Knowing their whiteness will always come first
You think their different, you think you matter
They say colour doesn't matter but that's the problem
My blackness is important and if you can't understand that
You were never a friend, you were an enemy I just had to keep closer
Disappointment is a feeling I'm all to familiar with
But I'm only human, so it will hurt even when I expect it
Doesn't mean I'm not easily affected
Having friends that are white can be so complicated
You can't say you love me
Yet root against me
I need you on my side, not only when it's convenient
Even when it makes you the enemy -
But at least then you would be on the right side of history
At least then I know you really care for me
We can agree to disagree on opinions -
Like if pineapple belongs on pizza
But when it comes to the rights of my people
There is no discussion, there is no debate
Simply put it is just hate
It is not simply an opinion, or a view
And if you think it is, I don't want to be associated with you
One thing remains true -
Our friendship will end and not continue
You don't love me, you just like what the label of having a 'black friend' does for you
Every morning I open my soul like an old book,
where verses stretch wings of light over sleeping dreams,
poetry is a spell that turns my thoughts into golden butterflies,
dancing through air laden with mysteries and hidden desires.
I feel words flowing through my veins like a river of stars,
illuminating the forgotten realms of my heart in secret,
and my eyes become windows to worlds hidden in shadows,
where colors are born from the embrace of light and darkness.
Poetry sings in my ears a symphony of ancient whispers,
each sound a flower petal touching the silence,
embracing the eardrums with a fine silk touch,
turning silence into music and dreams into sweet reality.
My tongue tastes the words like forbidden fruits,
each metaphor is a drop of divine, enchanting nectar,
and my hands become sculptors shaping air into ideas,
building castles of clouds in the sky of the mind, in endless flight.
When I read poetry, I walk on a path of shining stars,
traveling through unseen yet familiar universes,
where each verse is a step toward a horizon of miracles,
and each rhyme is a rest, a moment of sublime dreaming.
Thus, poetry becomes an ocean of metaphors and senses,
a compact universe where I find wings of thought and light,
and in this infinity of words, I always discover
not just the reflection of the world, but also of my soul.
Legacy of Hope; My Dad
My first memories are full of your dear face
Kind brown eyes, edged with wrinkles, a mere trace
I can't see a frown nor fretful scowl, only a gap toothed grin
With a pompadour, shiny, slick, and black as sin
So pleasing and handsome, lanky, laid back stance
Graceful limbs, in motion, like an underwater
dream dance
I picture your gentle hands, known as well as my own
Square nails, clean, soft, sign language for, “home”.
My first memories are full of your sweet voice
Telling tales, laughing, and singing, you rejoice
About your love for God, for family, and of wholesome fun
The Sun shines brighter with every string you pluck, every chord you strum
Lighting up my life, bringing warmth and feeding my very soul
Never allowing the hard times, the bitterness, take a toll
My first memories are full of compassion and true love
My Daddy, trusted to save me from fear,
My father, bringing peace like the dove
From first memory to a lifetime, gifted with you always standing by
Unable to repay you but with all that's in me, I'll try
Taking all that I have learned from you, kindness, compassion, fun silliness too,
I'll hold your familiar hand as my face fades from your view,
My last memory of this man,
my beloved Dad,
will be full of hope, bittersweet, but not sad.
The years linger on taking its toll.
You’ve been through it all looking back you behold.
All the things you’ve seen.
The many crazy dreams.
Now you wind down as your life begins to slow.
Seeing faces that are unfamiliar these people you don’t know.
Daydreaming you stare outside.
You wonder over your life and how it has passed you by.
All the things you wish you would have done.
Now wishing your life could be redone.
Nothing is familiar you don’t even recognize yourself.
You won’t let anyone in you won’t let anyone help.
Now you’re unable to speak but oh the words you would say.
Never take life for granted the price you now pay.
All the years are gone and now you are old.
Just barely hanging on in your tired shade of gold.
#Demons_in_my_spirit
The banging, the kicking and the shouting , defeans my peace, I'm lingering on the edge of my endurance, haile me healers and seers of the universe, for my entirety is in distress, tired fighting with what I can't even see with my eyes.
My flesh is now fading, projecting to the world my emptied inner being, for there's nothing left of my inner being self, dragging the least of whats left of me to the nearest graveyard, hoping the last shot wouldn't catch me before that last permanent human life consuming pit
Now my spirit realm, a space I should be escaping to for my peace and strength, has now grown thorns, piercing me in anyway possible, there's no space to stand with even one leg, resistance has tossed me in the wilderness, where nothing is neither familiar nor friendly, forced to keep staring sideways and backwards at all the time
I can't afford to succumb to this, my bare feet on the ground frontiers, lean on me, for this is my last kick, fought so many battles and in this I feel defeated, pull me from this painful floors,
Tattered from head to toe, from flesh to soul, these demons have bashed me to so many walls, at least can there be a DNA for my mother to identify me with at least for her closure, demons in my spirit
#Poetic_Ink
Smell of ashes
the taste of burnt toast,
complexion’s dark
as crows yet
a familiar scent
that lingers
in every empty
mug.
Cold weather
is my body’s ditzy
enemy.
Coats, scarves,
and others embrace never
suffices, yet I still cover
up just to concede
a frivolous
anxiety buried
in my skin.
Frosty compassion
leads a search for dire
need of temptation
within unkempt warmth
of liquid lush brewing
anew into a cup of
addiction.
Bitter is sweet,
sweet is bitter.
Its nature
so capricious meddling
from hate to love,
from love to heart-
ache, from heart-
ache to anger,
from anger to
loss.
Coffee’s taste
attached to every
memory, not once
absent,
a friend, my desire,
$2.49 a cup of cheap
watery indulgence
draws me back
more and more.
My loyal comfort,
as I take a sip,
I indulge
endlessly
Gestures made
Phrases uttered
All sound familiar
But how did this come to be?
It dawned on me
the movies watched long ago
the books read long ago
Gestures saved
Phrases scripted
The subscious comes to avail
Life is a large stage
Men and women acting
Life's cycle turns full circle.
Phrases muttered
Gestures made
Obscene acts
Despicable scripts
There is nothing new....
on the earth, earthlings
Life's cycle turns full circle
Scripts staged
Phrases written
Scenes seem familiar
movies long watched
books long read all comes to fore
Life is a stage
We are in this age
acting scripts long wired
nothing is new except the costumes
(Written 8th March, 2015)
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