i don't think i'll ever
be a good candidate
for marriage
i'm either getting bored of you
or being afraid you'll find something better
never happily gripping your arm to steady myself
or smiling under the shining moonlight
but the pale, soft skin
losing all of it's color
in the dawn of mess ups
or failed attempts
to try and establish something worth
breathing for
Athens, February the seventh of two thousand thirteen
A long day is perishing, its dawn was short, its rain perpetual and its air heavy,
And I think it is a shame that you are not here with me, now that I look my watch and its 6 o’clock in the afternoon.
I have the stark feeling that Athens was much,, much more yellow with you here,
now that in my magic eyes are candles, and in my head bells, and that I listen the tachycardic throb of this keyboard,
being punched with rugged fingers for almost 3 pages, now that I see the clock and its 7 already,
I pop my knuckles just to harvest some cassavas for you, and briefly, I found myself judicious.
Because, today as always, and also as ever, I think it is a shame that you are not here with me…
My left foot aches like hell and I think about which running shoes I will buy, then I cherish the time we bought your brown running shoes and then, wonder the ones I just picked will like you, because
Maybe, in that near and also far day of fall, I will be using them, when I met you again.
Maybe then I will watch into my cellphone and, being 8 p.m. already, you will say “Hello, my love” while walking toward me … and I will say “Hello, my heifer”… And we will stand right there, both of us… me, stained with the green sea color of your glaucomic eyes, and you, with the blue stain of my banished loneliness.
Holy Crap,
They Sold My Name!
No big deal, your name, your email, bought n' sold daily,
Like a baseball card, your picture and vital stats are on the internet,
Your credit card in the fine print tells you they love you much,
But the data they collect, might get credited to such and such.
You're fair game if your sign up for anything.
Now I know I am getting on in years,
Tho spry rhymes with die, I flatly deny
Any notion that
My great beyond is just around the corner!
But Holy Crap,
They Sold My Name!
Got a color brochure
Suggesting that when my travels are over,
A nice place to rest my head might be
St. Michael's Cemetery.
St. Michael's Cemetery
7202 Astoria Blvd, East Elmhurst
(718) 278-3240
Friday hours 7:00 am–5:00 pm
In case you want to check it out too...
Tho I live not in the Borough of Queens County,
My zip code but a hop, skip and jump away,
The cemetery adjacent to the Grand Central Parkway
Which is actually quite thoughtful of
The mass marketer who dreamed up this scheme
(And got paid a plentiful amount of bounty).
My kids could wave as they drive by,
On the way to LaGuardia or JFK, (airports)
And say, guilt free, they visit me regularly!
Sadly, their plot foiled,
I will be buried in
New Jersey soil,
Near to my pop, who liked the
Wide open spaces of suburbia
And shopping on Route 4,
Where the selection is great
And there is no sales tax.
But Holy Crap,
They Sold My Name,
And I am now target marketed,
Niched, pretty soon the boys from AARP
Will come calling, reminding me of the gap
Tween Medicare and the poor house!
Ok ok, grow up you say, tho your hair is full,
And not even a hint of baldness shines forth,
Nonetheless, its color is zebra striped gray,
And when someone says they got my back,
I think, please, please take it and keep it....
Oh yeah,
Dear St. Mikes
You might ask for some of your money back,
Cause this sily scribe is a member of the tribe,
Some call "those dirty (hint: it rhymes with Mikes),"
It starts with K and ends in yikes!
But thanks for thinking of me anyway.
I believe that there are some souls
born into this existence tormented
by truth.
A truth that will never falter.
Branded into their beings is the truth
that without love,
we are nothing.
We are meant to love and be loved.
Our sole purpose is to fall in love.
These troubled souls are faced with
the realization that once love has left you..
there is nothing left.
Life loses its color. Suddenly,
everything is dull
and the fire within you extinguished.
Life is filled with emptiness.
Empty words, empty promises,
empty lies, empty cycles,
empty sorrow that engulfs you and
becomes you.
Without love,
we strive to fill the bottomless
pit of our souls. But,
it will perpetually amount to nothing.
We are nothing.
We are mindless creatures searching in all
the wrong places.
We are hopeless.
And the only way to live fully is
through love.
So, where do we go when love is lost?
We become sorrow at it’s best.
a mouth full of cavities
and lungs full of algae infested waters
from sitting too long with no
escape
from what traps us in these ominous, dank
gorges.
gaunt faces with sunken eyes
from nights too haunted to sleep
swollen tongues with words unspoken
from submission to
silence
in the face of constant
deceit.
words
left in the veil of fog that masks the ground
every morning over the once green pastures,
stripping the color from the world,
leaving everything
grey
with the corruption
of what once was
what still is
and what will
remain.
we lose ourselves in the unapproachable
reality
of what we have created
what we were born into
what we will never
escape.
we lose ourselves.
we lose ourselves.
we are all
gone.
we were always empty anyways.
walking amongst the hollow men.
we are the hollow men.
we
create
the hollow men.
we weren't always the hollow men.
tell me how to fill these holes that
are found in our teeth
in our lungs
in our
souls.
where did all the substance go?
In the ever expanding reaches of the universe,
I will cradle you in my arms; bringing you into
a shimmering moat of light. You will stay there,
gold glitter raining soft upon your face---so youthful and wise.
We are inside my most prized possession:
a hand forged jewelry box painted with silver dragons.
The light that shines inside it bleeds the inside orange---
a color far brighter then gold.
Here we lay together. Just you and I,
awaiting the unseen light to touch every part of this plain with ingenuity.
The rays catch each strand of dust; purifying it to become a perfect garden of Eden.
It grows until we are basking---the warmth of it driving away all heavy slumber and doubt.
Your hands moved---slow for they remained still too long; mine follow unseeing.
It was then you opened your eyes---and I mine.
You were no longer blind from a dark, deadened universe.
I watched as you saw me--your clear brown irises glowing with the vision of a woman smiling in wonder.
You finally loved me---as I always will you...
...to the end of time.
And then, I saw the gates of heaven open wide;
A sight of a pretty woman seen, like a shadow;
she sat on his lap, conveniently; comfortably;
She was called by a false nick name in her own life;
highly recommended; graded for immoral values;
declared many wars of lust with men and won victoriously;
Her both eyes were glowing like a red flame of fire;
lips, moisturized and were like poisonous sharp arrows;
on her head were many crowns, black in color;
She had a name written in an unknown language;
no one knew; read and understood, except herself.
She was wearing no clothes, except a transparent gown,
dipped in blood, and her name is called by others;
The Beautiful Evil of the high heavens !
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
williamsji@yahoo.com
www.williamsji.com
www.williamsgeorge.com
www.williamsmaveli.com
(All poems in this series are, translations from Malayalam, originally written in author’s mother-tongue, “Malayalam’”, the language of Kerala, in South India.)
BY WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
williamsji@yahoo.com
www.williamsji.com
You are an ocean,
filled with life and
color. Everything so
lovely as the moon
shines down. The
moon soon sinks and
the light reveals truth
as society comes to
pollute the ocean blue.
Most only see the waste,
chemicals and smoke,
but I see far into
the abyss, the labyrinth
of the deep. I want
to get lost in the
maze and remain inside.
I can clean
up the waste and
make the ocean lovely
once again.
My artwork might
seem quite odd to
the average being, but
the crimson red
color is the most
beautiful art to me.
Sometimes I like to be random. I guess my whole life’s been pretty random. I don’t like to think before I speak. I sometimes start my sentences mid thought... My dad hates that. I like to go swimming at night, and have breakfast for dinner. Sometimes you have to change it up. Because mundane is boring. And before you know it, you’ll be too set in your own ways to change anything. Girls are confusing. Boys are oblivious. And generalizations suck.
I like to change it up because sometimes the only thing you can control is what you do. That doesn’t seem like much, but its more than what some people have. My favorite color is green. Once I taught myself the entire alphabet backwards... just because. I have a stuffed Unicorn named Sparkles and he is a boy. I bought him for myself last week.
I like change, but crave the routine. Weird isn’t it. Well weird is pretty accurate for a girl who likes Nickelodeon more than MTV. Netflix with my dog and parents more than parties. Sometimes I even go to late movies... With my mom. Then again sometimes, I just like to be random.
