_______________________
This three-piece limerick captures universal struggle for one’s identity. How the masks (vain emblems/hats we wear) eventually alienate us from who we truly are.
________________________
I never failed to flaunt my vain emblem
That I wore long years to hide who I am,
Therefore the man I was
For long was held in pause,
And now I scarce know from what roots I stem.
Now, were I to meet him, say in a lift,
I wonder, should I doff my hat or lift.
This dilemma’s dingdong
Has stayed with me for long,
And with this odd impasse in life I drift.
The bell then rings, the heavy doors swing free,
I drop my hat and face the man I see.
I step out of the box,
Unlocking all my locks,
And simply walk away as ah, real me!
_____________________
Reflections | 05.02.2009 revised in September 2026|
The things I'd resort to
when I thought to please her
I've since been taught not to be
a top of the toothpaste tube squeezer
no longer dog-earing pages
of books I'm reading
and only go slow when driving
no more speeding
but it's all in vain
as nothing gets by
no matter what I do
or how hard I try
as whatever the option
it's always her choice
it's almost as though
I have no voice
yet truly do my very best
but in the end I'm really sunk
so much for best intentions
may as well be a monk
"Every tattoo is a story. What's yours?" she asks.
"Todo fue en vano," I say.
Wasn't that all it was?
All that's left of me now is meaninglessness,
and all that's left of you is an abandoned past.
If not for you, what was this life made for?
What use was this skin if not to remember your touch?
Why was breath placed within me if not to lose itself at the sight of you?
And what purpose had this heart if it was never to fit in your embrace?
Witness how my face has grown crooked from your indifference,
how I have shorn my hair and scattered it among memories of your hands,
of the way you would caress it
and claim it as yours.
"Without you" was once an imaginary illusion.
Now it is a salient reality.
So I remind my flesh
of how worthless you've made me.
Todo fue en vano.
Time flies with pace, mutely, unheard,
Each moment a departing bird,
A whispered breeze, a fleeting thought,
The battles lost, the lessons taught,
Time squandered in vain is lost time,
Let`s make the most when the heart chimes.
I don't talk about you much now,
But that doesn't mean that I've lost the count.
It's exactly been 26 weeks since,
We broke contact.
I said, "People come and go in life",
But deep down I wish that you were unlike.
You're present everywhere around me,
Not physically but always in plea.
Silently you're killing me,
Piece by piece.
You're present everywhere around me,
In my notes app and memory.
In my best friend's messages too,
I feel sorry for what she has to go through.
I confessed to you because I was clueless,
That one text from me will make you ruthless.
The stab you gave me hurt so good,
I slid the knife deeper in my wood.
And the scariest part is yet unspoken,
I know I'll be ready to get my heartbroken.
If I could do what we had all over again,
I would consider myself lucky and not vain.
Unstable in all my ways
Nevermind the other days
When I couldn’t smile a storm
I was trying to keep oh so warm..
Messed up an extra mile
Our love went out of style
Shame embraced me,
Never leaving my presence of once-upon-a-time glee
Tears flow and the sun glows
Tears flow and His son knows
There will be a rainbow after a storm
After I find shelter to keep me warm
Unsmile my tears away, away, away
Unstable in a rather bizarre kind of way
Unbeatable thoughts barreling through my brain
In vain, I cry tears of joyless disdain…disdain…
Frowning in this town of a tension-whelmed terrain
Refrain from driving me insane
If you can, you can be my endless sunshining day…
To wipe away this dismay…pray away the disarray!
I say, pray away the pain
I say, shelter me with rain
I say, unsmile your smile of gain
I say, grow yourself another brain
Brother Martin Luther King Jr. did not die in vain
Heck no, the Kennedy brothers did not die in vain
And countless brave protesters did not die in vain.
The fight goes on, the struggle goes on.
It not easy to think and to write about the pain
Which our ancestors have endured over the years
They fought and died for this land of opportunities.
The fight goes on, the struggle goes on.
Heck no, Brother Malcolm X did not die in vain
Many brave young fighters did not die in vain
It is a shame that many agitators are so insane.
The fight goes on, the struggle goes on.
Jesus Christ was crucified and died for our sins
Presently, we cannot have a resurgence of gangs
Racist gangsters roaming in our lives like crazy ants.
The fight goes on, the struggle goes on.
Copyright© August 2017 Logerie Hebert, all rights reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several books of poems.
I'm vain.
I thought myself as great but then,
What of all the disdain?
They are saying different truths than what I believe to be true,
What does that mean?
Your truth burn away my flesh, burn up my soul.
Nobody matters to me anymore
Forgive me, I've become a heartless ghoul.
You may think I may become vain,
But I never want to cause you such pain.
Beneath the weight of silent chains,
Where whispered cries ignite the veins,
The seething rage of masses grow,
A fire born from pain we know.
No gilded throne, no velvet crown,
Can hold the tide when it comes down.
The streets will burn with voices loud,
A thunder rolling through the crowd.
From broken homes and empty plates,
The fury builds, the hour waits.
In every heart, a rebel’s drum,
The time for silence is undone.
The tyrant’s grip, once firm and tight,
Will shatter in the morning light.
For power built on stolen breath
Cannot withstand the dance of death.
Raise your fists and break the night,
For dawn is born from bitter fight.
The seething rage of masses, free—
A storm of change, a destiny.
You admired my sonnets, and slowly,
You began to feel something for me too.
With one soft,.tender, kiss, you offered
Your kind and tender heart too.
But who has broken the scarlet tulip flower pot?
And instead of blood, I see water spilled—
The flowers of love have withered,
Has sweetness met its end?
An old, forgotten book lies half-hidden,
Dust-covered on the lowest shelf.
You opened it once while sailing,
Yet you can’t recall even a moment of your life—
And still, you never throw it away. No!
The end is only a farce
The beginning is far away
There is only a vacuum
A hollow voidancy
Life is vain
A floating lily
hovering in futility
Seeking a transient haven
Settling my tomorrow today
_______________
Separated from her spouse who’s sojourning,
the heroine awaits with deep longing.
___________________
The warmth of a day nigh sunny
Nor silver of moon passing by
Gives me hope nor solace any more,
Freeze of darkness spreads to my deep core,
Separated, I feel utterly incomplete,
O cut your long sojourn short, beat a retreat
And come soon to end my loneliness,
O come to end my day-long stress.
Let morrow’s sun dawn with the news
That would end my life’s blues,
Let me await no more, come as warm breeze,
O come to rhyme my life’s verses.
_________________
Natya Shastra |07.02.2025| Rhyme,
Note: This is seventh of Ashta-Nayikas, eight heroine types, as classified in a Sanskrit treatise on performing arts in Bharata’s Natya-Shastra. The state (avastha) of the eight romantic heroines widely themed in Indian paintings, literature, sculpture, classical dance forms and music. Proa-bhatruka is the seventh of the eight such heroines depicted here in poetic form.
Let me tell you a tale
of a small boy,
who wanted a gale
and some flashy rain.
A small child, naughty he was,
Never wanted school,so
he sent the Gods and SOS
about some stormy rain.
The Gods red and red again,
They were always kindly
and didn't want to make him in vain,
So they sent some thunderous clouds
The boy was so in glee,
his mother didn't know why
She asked him why he didn't flee,
To the place where was rain
The little brat, happily,
Told her the message,
The mother was awed faintly,
By her son's love for Rain
Sailboat
sailor
hurled by wild winds
on the deep sea
in awe calls for relief
from men and the heaven,
but in vain.
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