This morning we jogged early
I was back in my flat by six-thirty
From my tenth floor view of the Charles River basin,
The morning was incandescently flushed by the peach-colored sun.
The transparent clouds seemed stylistically stained, artfully workshopped,
which offered a softened, Tiffany glass effect wholly worthy of worship.
I can’t stop to admire it. I’m jamming things into suitcases.
Cramming things into boxes, giving things away.
I had a second interview Monday afternoon, for Johns Hopkins med school. They put the question to me:
“The semester starts in 18 days - can you do that?”
“Yes,” I replied, and just like that, I'm a Blue Jay.
Of course, I had to withdraw from the masters program but Harvard gave me a full (95K) refund - I think they’re more excited about my med school admission than I am.
I’m not afraid of discordant notes.
They change the landscape.
Take us to new emotional places.
Any major work is going to have them.
.
.
A song for this:
Hang on Little Tomato by Pink Martini
It's Amazing by Jem
The setting sun weaves a poem,
blossoming
unsung trochaic along the river basin
(Nurulhuda Junction. Teesta)
Sometimes it feels quite an estranged thought to realise that living is a mundane day to day thing to sustain. The welfare causes are demanding all those intricate , subtle personal delicate feelings, into a powermonger possessive expositional ownership, for no good understood parameter.
The book was well versed. Muzzammil was lying on his bed, half awakened. He took his glass pairs off. A pair of opaque spectacles, with the littlemost effort, both the bifocal parts are often sweaty. He was waiting for his wife’s special morning tea, everyday. Remote area in the suburban side, every day newscaster is often quote a belated story there.
December, 2025
The rye mustard field, glowing with a morning diva, faded in colors within afternoon
The river runs just beside ;
“O reverie! What shall the song be in the chanting verse, unsung in me and thee!”
The branches of the oak tree , trace upon chest of yours, whence
The tree shade adores you in blue
Patsy sounds in farther and farther a try, follow through
These for having an echo in those stalking sounds, whence together , sounds cry
Was there ever a river meandering nearby?
“O reverie! What shall the song be in the chanting verse, unsung in me and thee!”
You , my soulmate, a fall to befall in shape, mine to undermine
The farther I run away to shy - you trace me back there with your toddler efforts to intertwine
I hear your foamy shore, sounds of me with my child, daylong, a silly whim to be around awhile
Enchantance overflowing with eloquence (seemingly so)
Eloquence and ongoing eloquence never a bit tiresome
This very river
A flock of fishes rainbow colors on the river chest
The herd of flamingo , white lilies the remotest oasis around the deepest river basin
Men did not intervene, as these, are never to be seen.
By George P. Lumayag
https://georgelumayag.weebly.com
how could i measure that you’re you?
qualified actress, like you!
many faces out of a diamond’s mask
portrayed beyond yours into an arch.
pensive eyes digging you as rock
wouldn’t even know whether smooth or rough;
so, “don’t let fertile soil – to embrace you
that would end at river basin - than you!
Sparkle of dawn perks up inert callow greens
Inviting a resurgence of dormant waterfalls
When spring ignites revival of river’s journey
Hidden far behind the soaring mountaintops.
A blue bird lingers on a pink flowery branch
Watching vibrant tulips in a graceful dance
Where fragrant breeze sways budding fields
As golden daybreak proposes a lyrical scene.
Adoring pinkish white cherry blossom trees
People cherish vistas of reflective river basin
Meandering through a garden of red roses
Wearing glitter of pleasantry on their faces.
Yellow blossoms rise from long green stems
Where red blooms comingle cohesive ways
And butterflies roam searching sweet nectar
Celebrating gleefully abundance of flowers.
Sky has resumed wearing aquamarine blue
Dissipating the vestiges of melancholic hues
As spring's passion makes it abundantly clear
A season of fervent love is flirting in the air.
February 28, 2018
Placed first in standard contest #160 by Brian Strand
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