Long Only when Poems
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It's been years now
Still hearing your voice bound
Could feel your presence around
That last feeble glimpse;
The last tender touch;
Could not be forgotten forever
"Oh, no! it's been 3 years, Still lingering in the past?
Could you please stop your boring laments?
Are you the only girl in the world who lost her dad?
You are so weak. You need to move on and get diverted"
While hearing such words from near and dear ones
All we did was stop lamenting only to them
But deep inside, me and mom
still think of you, cry for you, speak about you
For, we are alive because of these deeds
They say that time will heal everything
But here, even the time knows
That we smile only when we speak about you
And so it hesitates to fade those moments
No matter what they say
We think of you forever
No matter how they feel
We speak about you ever
But gonna keep it within us
As you shouldn't be portrayed as our weakness
Cos, you are our power, helping us drive
Our strength, helping us breath and survive
Dedicated to my dad who left us on July 5 2020
You adore the moon only when it is full and bright
across the endless expanse of the night sky.
That is why I fear your love,
like a storm approaching slowly, yet surely, in its silence.
Who can tell me that you will continue to love my shadows,
when my soul is blue and heavy,
when I do not shine under that blinding light that draws you,
when I feel like a falling star, lost in the night?
When I feel like a disappointment reflecting on the surface of a tranquil lake,
hiding the depths of my unrest,
when I doubt myself and fail to reach the heights you dream of,
when I am lost in my own insecurities?
I fear your love like a fragile flame,
that burns only when the wind is silent and the world is still,
for who can promise that you will stay when the clouds gather,
covering the moon’s light, leaving only darkness to reign?
When the brightness fades and only I remain,
with all my imperfections, as I am, without pretense or masks?
The existence of ego depends on thought,
a magical illusion conjured by mind,
web of incessant motion in which we’re caught
but if we drop desires and leave fears behind,
in the void of silence we become self-taught,
no longer floundering about as though blind.
Attuned with the soft pulsations of our heart,
in restful watchfulness God search we jump start.
As an actor in the dream we’ve manifest,
we take as real, the domain created,
the dream ending only when thought comes to rest,
which occurs when we’re not by desires baited,
that then ambling through life in light hearted jest,
the truth of Self is by heart validated.
When thought flow stops, we are then dehypnotized
whence truth of our true being is realised.
Everyone loves the piece
But the piece's mouth's
Worth no kiss.
Ain't that the trick of the pen?
Not being poetic; rather, aesthetic.
The other side does not know
It is not raining over here.
A fast one nature pulls on us
Sometimes out there.
Not being poetic; rather, aesthetic.
Dark is safe
When two pliest
The day may not save
When one defiest.
Even when shadow falters behind.
Ain't that the trick of the mind?
Not being poetic; rather, aesthetic.
Lost in low, a wandering soul
Till the moving wheel
splash the flow
Why do the heels feel so low
Only when the odd changes role?
Ain't that the freak of the roll?
Not being poetic; rather, aesthetic.
I'll never forget how
she cornered me
outside the lecture hall
with her downcast eyes,
looking so respectful.
I thought women were
supposed to look
just like that.
I spent evenings in her company.
She made me supper of beans and greens.
Ellen was studying nutrition.
In my mind it wasn't a high profession.
She was a practical person
with concrete attitudes.
But there was a twist to her,
a sadness that called for
my special talents.
Sitting at her table
became a staple of my life.
It was only when I developed
a tenderness toward her that things changed.
She stood at the cabinet drawer
looking for needle and thread.
I came up behind her,
suddenly driven by a gush
of something physiological.
I touched her hand.
She withdrew alarmingly.
Lesbianism was illegal in those days.
Ellen's partner was a butch named Maxine.
She called her Max.
I would be an appearence.
Not my charm
but my availability
made her wait for me.
I dont know the future and I can't make promises
But honest is what I'll always be and what I feel
Has to be real because when I see them I say to myself
Its all vanity, the reason why I'm yours
Is because the women in the past couldn't handle me
And truth is I probably wasn't ready them
But in this season I'm need of a woman
Who I can follow and lead me
And you're looking like a leader
I'm so eager but also so meek
To see what the future holds for you and me
Many are deceived, even more deceitful
Lust in the spirit has to be by far the most
Powerful gravitational pull but by his grace
I pray this is my last first date
A crucifixion tupe of love is what I wanna taste
Its what I hope to savor
But its always easier said then done
And if I go back in any of this I'm labeled as a hypocritie
The way to my heart is encrypted in the Scriptures
So only when ye seek him first is when you'll
Be able to led by the spirit to love me free from
This temporal prism
Nothing hurts more than anticipation.
The fear of the unknown.
A love yet spoken.
Unspoken in desire.
Yet it sits and grows in the vase planted.
An odd since of humor.
It learned to smile.
Sprouting buds and leaves.
The taller it grew no longer
could it hide this desire.
Wrapping itself in vine.
Choosing to explore the unknown.
A love yet spoken.
Seen from the height of the vase planted.
It learned to smile more.
Finding a love seen from behind the glass.
It yearned for the sun,
Sleeping only when it couldn't be seen.
The sun.
The nourishment of dreams, granting peace.
A means to grow almost overnight.
Discovering more than this warmth felt root to stem.
The manifestation of the smallest thing.
Held tight, each bud, every leaf.
Symbolic of the heights reached.
Learning to speak in amplified volume.
It painted itself in infatuation.
Removing the price tag from the vase.
One of the greatest loves
Ever grown
Replanted outside.
Soaring above the clouds
hello
it's me
the result of your unrestrained vices.
i was born from the ground up
from the mouth of the gaping crater left by the density, and gravity of your monolithic pile of sin:
the same crater that exposes the veins of the earth,
causing the magma to bleed out from the skin:
the same skin that has already been,
eroded from the inside out by the seed of dishonor, and rusted by the blood of your wives, your children, your concubines, your brothers, and sisters and neighbors.
the same neighbors who have decided on your condemnation.
you shall eat the dust,
until the dust itself eats you.
you shall eat it until you are completely full and wholly dissatisfied.
your blade, which you hold, will become molten steel in your hand.
And the bone of the arm that holds that molten steel shall be broken into 7 segments,
and those segments of bone shall be removed from the skin and pushed into your toothless mouth
and what is left of the arm will be filled with salted concrete and stitched up and wrapped with sandpaper.
your organs and blood shall be removed and replaced with that of those you have killed.
what remains of their lives will enact revenge against your own body.
your sentence shall be finished only when the insatiable appetite of Satan pulls your soul out of your cursed vessel,
and straight into the gaping abyss that is his mouth.
I wait for the words to burn within me, like flames licking the edges of paper,
To erupt from the depths of my stomach, raw, gnawed by bones,
To make me lose nights, turning in the darkness,
Tangled in my own thoughts, like in a net of broken dreams.
I do not write if I do not open up, if I do not bleed onto the page until my hands tremble,
I do not write just to impress a girl, not for a beautifully wrapped but empty gift,
Not for applause, not for approval, not for the spotlight instead of the shadows.
The words must come from the place I fear to approach,
From the place that hurts to touch, like an open wound that does not heal,
I wait until they carve their way out, until they scream to be born.
Every night, like a witch enchanted by her own incantations,
Thoughts surround me, spinning like spirals of smoke,
And memories burn, like falling stars in the darkness of my mind,
I let myself be carried by their waves, lost in the tide of endless emotions.
I write only when my soul is a volcano ready to erupt,
When my heart is a forest on fire, when my blood is ink,
And every word is a spark, an explosion of light and pain,
I write only when the words tear my skin, when they make me scream.
In sleepless nights, with eyes open to an unseen sky,
I search for that hidden place within me, that place full of shadows and fears,
And I dive into its depths, into the abysses where light does not reach,
There, in the darkness, I find the words that burn me, that tear me apart.
Every letter is a part of me, every verse is an open wound,
And I write only when I can no longer endure the silence,
When words become a necessity, a call from the depths,
I write only when they scream to be born, when they can no longer be ignored.
I wait for the fire to consume me, to transform me into ashes and flames,
And only then, with trembling hands and an open soul,
I write, like wizards do, magical words that burn and heal,
I write because I cannot not write, because the fire within me cannot be extinguished.
I am no expert but I often wonder about love…how she’s invisible…like the wind
Yet, when you feel her brush against your heart, you know where she has been.
How the ability to love is universal…but how its origins are unclear.
How you can meet another person….and out of nowhere…love appears.
How love has a fluidity….the ability to move…to flow.…to run.
How when two people fall in love…their two loves become one.
How love has an elasticity…on whatever paths it chooses to undertake…
It has the ability to spread out over long distances…to bend but never break.
And here’s a simple caution anyone who falls in love should know..
It is only when love is cultivated that it has a chance to grow.
But when it is nurtured that tree of love grows tall and strong…
I’ve seen it…I believe….
I’ve seen the way love sends it message to all its branches…all it’s leaves.
I’ve seen how love is resilient…no matter what shape she takes…what form…
when it’s roots are fortified by love…that tree can weather any storm.
This week I was blessed by how many times the love growing on my family tree
flowed through the branches and the leaves and found it’s way to me…
As I say I am no expert I don’t know how love can last forever
or be evanescent……how no one can ever own her…
but I don’t have to be an expert…one I’ve felt her touch
to understand how lucky I am to have known her.