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Besa Dede Poem
I'm not eloquent at descriptions.
My tongue gets tied trying to push my thoughts out.
My mind gets foggy when I try describing
the "where's", the "who's", the "why's", the "what's.
I guess I'm not very good at explaining.
Expressing my feelings I also often fail.
The "who's" I fathom will be so frustrated
trying to decipher my "what's" so frail.
I recon the reason is somewhat ambiguous.
The "why's" don't bother using common sense.
They shut the door in poor "what's" the name's face.
The tension grows thicker, and the air becomes dense.
Overflowing with guilt from all this commotion,
Refuge they'd seek at the redemption's lair
Vehemently trying to make peace with all the emotions,
I hurriedly ran in array and despair.
I knocked at the door slightly embarrassed.
Determined and ready I was, to finally explain.
But the "where's" was the only one sternly waiting.
So, all this commotion, and heartache, was in vain.
Besa Dede Monday, May 12, 2025
Copyright © Besa Dede | Year Posted 2026
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Besa Dede Poem
The silence of the lambs is unbearable.
They seem confused; more rather, mystified.
One would think that they're relishing on this gruesome anarchism,
This horrible chaos that is unveiling its dark intrigue.
Their fathers lost their battles with the wolves,
And having fallen down, their blood is being shed
And their blood is lustily being drunk by the thirsty jackals.
And now! Ah! Lament!
Their mommas
Are being sent on the way to the butcher's shop.
Iron cast shackles fasten their feet.
An absurd connotation per se! For sheep,
They do not run in the face of devastation.
Their bleating laments pierce the skies
They bewail and mourn for their fallen leaders-comrades
And humbly, oh so humbly
Do they lower their heads
And accept defeat.
There they go, shyly, following one another,
With tears brimming in their eyes,
Angst tightening into their panged hearts.
And during all this time, their lambs,
They just watch mesmerized
All this cacophony of trials and errors.
Too afraid to say, or do anything
Or too ignorant to understand the gravity of the matter.
Poor sheep-they cry.
Not for their ultimate demise,
As the butcher, smiling sharpens his hatchet.
No, the poor sheep do not cry for their cursed fate.
They weep for the silence of their lambs,
Who just watch, eyes wide-open in stupidity.
Maybe they are too immature to act?
Or too shocked from this disastrous havoc?
Or are they too indifferent to take action
Against this merciless reality?
Oh, the silence of the lambs is so unbearable.
Oh, the silence of the lambs is so unbearable!
I can tell you that! !
Besa Dede Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Copyright © Besa Dede | Year Posted 2026
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Besa Dede Poem
My silhouettes of loneliness.
They tremble, they shake, they flicker.
The air becomes denser, thicker
With the heavy emptiness that you left behind.
Now my most cherished solace is found
In the memories of days past.
As my eyes wander towards the vast horizon.
And slowly, oh so slowly sail my angered yearning for you on a cloudy balloon,
That soon floats peacefully towards the starry sky.
And,
The shadows wane a little in the darkness.
Then remembering your smile, makes
My yearning grow like a forest densley carpeted with autumn leaves.
My first breath of happiness!
The joy of remembering you,
Made me find my crumpled, wounded self,
Hidden within this ruined castle of despair
That myself had layered brick by brick around me.
My ego helpless, tries escaping.
Into light and out from the claws of the shadows.
Bravely clutching into every thinnest strand
Of hopes and dreams we wove together.
Desperately wanting to see you one last time.
You joyful, anguished pain of mine!
Fog, please be lifted,
and let me see what lays ahead.
Will these burdensome wrongdoings forgive myself?
Or no exception of redemption given,
Just like everyone else.
Not divine enough to be able to touch the ethereal bliss,
And yet, not sinful enough to be encased within the horrors of the underworld.
Thus, forgotten, once again,
rewinding, whining, crying,
Into this endless purgatory
Of the eternal circle of life and death.
Completely unreasonably complaining,
Because, you left...
©?Besa Dede
Copyright © Besa Dede | Year Posted 2026
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Besa Dede Poem
You are the fire
I am the ice.
They say we don't match.
But we don't think twice.
It won't suffice,
To stop us touch.
Your enchanting pleas.
Won't let me be.
All on my own.
They invite me closer.
And I fall for.
I call toward thee.
My echo roars,
Unearths, explores,
Your whole new world.
Of ardent desires.
I frost thy blood
That runs through your veins.
I can't stop the fiery burning.
It does not quench me.
Makes me more thirsty…
I can't explain.
You burn my heart
With the fiery darts.
That tear apart
My mortal being.
They amiably hurt me.
Make me want more.
I break thy bones.
You scorch my skin.
I frost…
You melt…
I do not know what to expect next.
But a beautiful, pristine feeling,
Already is born.
Starts to have meaning,
We call it simply,
Love…
Copyright © Besa Dede | Year Posted 2026
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Besa Dede Poem
The sweet song of the Finch,
awoke me from my sleep.
From the open window, the wind
sent me sweet whispers of the leaves.
The poplar had blossomed during the night.
While the pavement was covered
by a snowy blanket of soft flowers.
The air was imbued with fragrances of revival and reincarnation.
Wholeheartedly I welcomed
the Spring ...
©?BesaD.
4/2004
Copyright © Besa Dede | Year Posted 2026
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