Visitors had flown back home...
The much-longed for respite
Finally, was at hand.
It felt good...to be on your own...
Leaning on the bed, alone, though
Still nursing a cold from two weeks past.
To catch up with sleep
Was all that mattered.
Quietude was a blessing.
There was no noise at all
At 5:00 in the morning.
What? 5:00 AM?
No rushing footsteps? No showering?
No flushing of the toilet?
On a school day?
This can't be!
Rising from the bed was a struggle,
Everything seemed light...floating,
Panic lurked in all corners of my room,
Loomed, it did, and spread all around,
In the midst of a widening cloak of fear.
The vacuum...in the right ear...
Cleared those fuzzy thoughts.
My right ear could no longer hear.
Whether lying cringed or curled,
Prostrate, or supine,
Predominated in the days that followed.
Diagnoses and prognoses, all were bleak.
The cruel, deadly virus did it all...
The loss superceded, and
Displaced every strand of confidence...
A downward pull was imminent.
No phone calls were accepted.
Unexpectedly, true colors surfaced,
Real friends came forward...
Family, other voices kept whispering:
"Shibashi waits, tai chi helps,
Both can alleviate, heal the heart,
Heal the mind, to be able
To accept the unacceptable."
Fourteen days seemed a year already,
Moments spent in soul-searching...
With prayers and courage, gathered within,
I dared cross that busy street,
Though shaking, quivering from fear
And from the cold winds of February...
Almost got hit by a car,
Cursed by its driver,
But reached the church grounds in one piece.
Practice started at 7:00 AM, sharp.
Movements were calming,
Concentration was perfect!
It was a sunny day...
Wind blew softly,
But small things began to fall,
Tiny strips that went with the wind...
What I thought were garbage...
Strips of thrash paper, from a shredder, maybe...
Thrown from a house I passed by...
Blown even further, higher, by the wind.
I walked back home,
With strips of paper on my head.
Two weeks were too short, I was still confused,
Unaccepting, mad, sad, felt cheated,
Still in denial, of what had occured...
Standing in front of a vanity mirror,
Wondering what God's message was.
Strangely, I thought of those strips of thrash paper...
Confetti from Heaven???
My situation wasn't a festive event!
Could I have overlooked something here?
I wasn't sure...but what I knew was,
I was depressed...
I lost equanimity, I lost my serenity...
I was distraught, I was everything but happy.
But, those strips of paper...
Falling on my head like a shower...
Made me look up to the sky that morning....
There were no tears, still am afraid, but
There is a calmer me...
There is solace in the fact that,
God gave me two ears...
I could still hear with the other...
I live a quite active life, til now...
I still move briskly...
I sit where the speaker's voice is most clear
To my left ear.
When something is difficult to hear, or understand,
I still get so frustrated..
Sometimes, I forget about it,
It has its good effects.
It would soon be seven years after...
I have learned to
adjust to my limitations,
And still wanting to know how to overcome
Or resolve these limitations...
One day, I might just...
One day, I might just,
Accept what should be accepted...
There'd be much gratitude for my sole request:
To be understood...and not pitied...
Written early morning of December 11, 2013
(From journals of February 2007)
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Why do I fall so easily
when I'm so scared
you take me so high
I can't breath steady
from all the way up here
you're taking up all my oxygen
but I don't mind
keep taking it
until I become faint
my balance and fall
so hard and fast that I lose myself in the process
I was going to do that anyway
Maybe I wasn't leaving, but going home. Maybe my body was constantly the wrong age for my mind and I slipping in and out of consciousness. And to be entirely honest with you, I never knew what love was until it smacked me right across the face, knocking me to the ground. I mean there's no other logical way to explain it. It's as though I was there and then suddenly I wasn't only there but I was in love. It consumed me and it devoured me. It ripped my flesh to shreds and dragged me on the surface of the hardwood floors. I blame love for the loss of my temper, the times I showed up at your door sobbing uncontrollably. I couldn't hold my words between my teeth, yet neither could I release them. They were stuck. Planted there. Between my chest cavity and my throat and occasionally a thought of desperation stepped off the tip of my tongue. I threw things. And I hated things. But most importantly, I loved you. I loved you despite the fact that you didn't love me. I didn't even care or expect you to return this feeling. I just wanted you to know. To be aware that I would have done anything to see that trace of a smile across your lips. I would have slept out in the rain. Worked 3 jobs and even tell off the girl who once broke your heart. I lost it. My mind. My innocence. My doubts. And my expectations. I gave every ounce of it away because of what I felt for you. And I guess where I'm coming to, is one day I woke up and it wasn't pouring outside anymore. I was okay. I had made it through the storm. I found home.
Maybe I wasn't leaving, but going home. Maybe my body was constantly the wrong age for my mind and I slipping in and out of consciousness. And to be entirely honest with you, I never knew what love was until it smacked me right across the face, knocking me to the ground. I mean there's no other logical way to explain. It's as though I was there and then suddenly I wasn't only there but I was in love. It consumed me and it devoured me. It ripped my flesh to shreds and dragged me on the surface of the hardwood floors. I blame love for the loss of my temper, the times I showed up at your door sobbing uncontrollably. I couldn't hold my words between my teeth, yet neither could I release them. They were stuck. Planted there. Between my chest cavity and my throat and occasionally a thought of desperation stepped off the tip of my tongue. I threw things. And I hated things. But most importantly, I loved you. I loved you despite the fact that you didn't love me. I didn't even care or expect you to return this feeling. I just wanted you to know. To be aware that I would have done anything to see that trace of a smile across your lips. I would have slept out in the rain. Worked 3 jobs and even tell off the girl who once broke your heart. I lost it. My mind. My innocence. My doubts. And my expectations. I gave every ounce of it away because of what I felt for you. And I guess where I'm coming to, is one day I woke up and it wasn't pouring outside anymore. I was okay. I had made it through the storm. I found home.
Old man in the park. Not one to waste
words. At play with pieces of clay. All
in harmony ~ with natures world.
Peaceful are his days ~ playing the
game, amidst a sunrise ~ twice revered
now reserved in the morning dew.
A marvel of life ~ a voyage of the
mind. A savior of our uncompromising
ways. Wise ~ he wrinkles, pones a
play. Gently in tune, as strings glide
in the palms of another ~ between two
trees, also palms, another sits ~ plays
a wooden hollow, vibe is so cool.
Knowing the essence of his will is
simplicity, a discipline of age ~ softly
in his send. Honestly ~ wise is the old
man. Groomed and cultured by his
own reflection. Graced by an
extravagant past. Astute, sensible, in
so many compelling ways.
Such is ~ the half shaven wise old man
at rest sharing dreams ~ promises ~
better fantasies ~ for he made a meal
of life. Hand woven thoughts, clever in
measure, precise is his glare. The
treasure ~ is his reason. Simple brown
cap, corduroy pants ~ a checkered
shirt, sitting, resting, a lover of life, his
ways no longer measured ~ but
In reflection, a gaze of the horizon, is
a metaphor of his life. Reminders of
yesterday’s ~ now pleasantries for us ~
now his heyday. Devious was the old
man ~ his adventures are fantasies to
another. As he grays before us, in the
calendars of day...
Colorful character, a lifetime tainted
by only the polish of his shoes. Tame
in his crevasse of dimples ~ quivering
at sight of his son. A grandfather ~
clever at any game. Parading ~
teaching ~ his grandson, the same
games he played. Numbers to boot ~
the sunlight's yellow brick rays ~ a
little mans stare at the big mans gaze.
Old man, trustworthy, captain of
philosophy ~ a fickle ~ a frozen sky of
crisp colored white hair, curls of gray.
Today's moniker ~ a father son’s
game. Metaphorically inclined, atop a
rocking chair ~ arms lapped, crossed
in the simplest of ways. Certain to a
spit shine ~ leather his shoes today.
Grandson beside plays, a book of
brush strokes, a choice of paints,
shades now shadows of gray.
Honestly and with all conviction ~ we
shell before his eyes. Endearing are
his traits. Earn his trust, in turn ~ he
reserves your spot ~ a voyage ~ over-
seas ~ with a monk of wisdom ~ a
canopy of rope ~ and a gentle smile...
Acknowledge him ~ reach out ~ he
extends ~ firm is the handshake...
Yes ~ passions ~ reflections to mirror,
gentle this giant of a man. A graceful
one. A token for a smile. A coin for
his presence ~ an embrace for today…
Since we parted Ive been a mess..
No one else can see it except myself..
They all hate you...
For some reason i don't mind you...
I had tried everything to forget you
I eventually just gave up
Its like you put yourself there purposely for me to never forget..
I don't know why things happened this way
We never had bad problems till that last day..
The last day we were together you broke everything..
My trust in you, hope for us, happiness for us, and my heart..
If you cared in the first place you wouldn't have done that..
Yet you still try to talk as if none of it ever happened..
I don't know how you can do that..
You stopped all the drugs you were doing back in those days..
Sometimes i think of how happy we used to be...
I wish we still had that little sparkle in our eyes
The look of excitement every time we would see each other ..
I will be seeing you shortly for the first time in about 5 months..
We will see where that leads..
Everyone's telling me don't meet up with you
Truth is...i want to be in your arms again...
I would feel no fear with you
You are trying to prove yourself to me
I am willing to accept you back in my life again
There is no love stronger than our forbidden love...
Fashion this as liquor to give spirit to a song in write.
Seen seldom to weigh words at play in search,
sewn expensive for time spent in trust and recite.
Penciling not for profit so rhythmic this may show.
Find in the presence to open and reflect our woes.
Only prescription for uncommon those in write.
A same those who compose.
This on display is the compromise
of sheltered dreams ~ and the soul,
of rhythm in gentle prose.
This is the allure of the jewel of life.
Sent as promise a same a wish.
Stem those genes and make heavy this vision ~
and prayers in might.
These are our rays made ink,
to weigh the pressures of waves
constant in cycle, to detract from nature’s
Heavenly sight. Lost we shall dream
and ever so patiently grow old but in heart live bold.
Rugs were in Persia mathematically
correct and with an Indian craft
colorful, Heaven sent. Only captured in
a metaphor this day, so men do master,
so simple this way. Simple this as to
measure the years past, shudder away
tears, for the river purifies our passions
commandeered. So culture our gardens
to prosper and replenish, in the green
untamed, and natural in wonder,
Today we thimble a sew for tomorrow,
for our craft is spared only to simple ~
ness of editing, not journeyed journals
to an ever-changing composition
Perhaps unfamiliar this vest, this
life. Sample the living, in books that
inspire. Dismal I think the desire to
purify a pen in this heavy practice, a
dance an art. Time lends a flavor,
marinating appealing to a fashion so
Always calm to prolong righteous
reason, modern making, yet captured
still as storytelling. Uncommon to cues,
but refreshing at leisure, is now a
computer who makes simple what once
was wasted time. Measures made in
this art are laborious, the passion is for
the pen, reel it in as your tool, rations
will in turn ~ give as a well to nature
and sow, the seed of the write.
Refinement ~ un-forsaken, notes of
detail, must reinvent and inscribe in
ink. The bank of intuition lay tender as
our diction. Replenish in the soil of our
native grounds to seed another tool, the
luxury of our lingo. For inspirations
may befriend or become uncharted if
left in the cold. Sold but without a
surrender to all integrity, we will call
for many souls to ship and receive what
Forefathers intended. In over our
heads, over watering our behaviors,
half unknowingly over diluting our
mental treasures, is this the liquor of
life, all too fancy in measure but it was
the tea of rebellion ~ and so I toast ~
to a drink tonight.
Inherent as memories of a generation
now surely within time, we will fill the
promise within crafted lines, and file
away ~ many promises ~ many
revisions, many times. In spoil we shall
not surrender our bounty of honesty and
wisdom, so gray in years we
mend. Dent our self-serving self ~
respect, make and justify the wheel in
role common. Like a beard in keep,
intention is relevant. Surely women
refine makeup as to show beauty in
character. Thus what we intend to
refine is an endeavor to unwrinkled and
celebrate the qualities of growing
old. Time is of new defining, for the
times are naturally at all times ~ in
ritual of change.
Memories to grace the gift of sight are
the shades to carry our reflections
away. One, who trusts and so cares, lay
in the daydream of light. In a wish sent
salient, reference to eyes unveiled,
patiently as a seed shall ripen, the
flavors of life will flower in springs
day. We hanger thus shelter, the rags
made clothes, best when leather to
weather firm and tight.
Regift the promise, to harness the wind
and make words potent as those before
did without regret. Today in general we
lean and conform on the fundamentals,
too disciplined, mirror of stale
literature. Similar to wood varnished
but without the stains of life. First
revision is not for giving, only what is
taken, luxury of time. Color your copies
of the wood you talk in and pencil in
your pressures to relieve the pain,
simple ~ ness and cold feet lay sold, as
buttered bread to fill. But imperfect, so
forthcoming, wills the literature of today
finding promise in ceremony by
charting drafts and revisions to send in
message to those young in read.
This voyage is regretfully gentle as our host
made monumental any verse, so breathe
within the soul and hearts of men, to
find new styles to milk the mind of
reason. Leafs from the tree of intuition
censure the picture, sell in the filter of
Freedoms fight, not first drafts ready
Battered but purely by pace and
meager beginnings, the wave of
procurement in the arts of linguistics
will saddle and shelter the idea
profound. Don’t toss away the raisin of
a pen in hand, for we lean to easily in
bits and bytes. Promise of Heaven’s
pennies falling in rhythm will sing
tonight. Majestic in find, common in ground,
gift a find, in leisure, in time. Gather
they guard and uphold the greater good,
not to entertain but inspire. Just as
ones soul is when right. Humbled in
behaviors so chips in clever may
fall. But poker face we have
become, once centered in earnest of
essays in rent, now owners of ideas
embellished ~ in verse ~ our native
treasures. Second, we charter the raft
of ideas in mend, to conceive works so
aspiring as the poets and linguists of
historic claim. So riddled ~ so
mastered. Surely a new discontent shall
offer, in a pebble of examples met, with
practice and structure our youth will
Demand must be patient, for
procurement in the arts of linguistics
will nurture and mother our future
Leaders to a discipline in their own
right. Never forget the days of past
generations for they marveled in the
arts ~ and in rain it falls in our hands ~
to luster and defend. Poetics are too
political if not in share. Protection of
this is how Freedom was rung. The
hungry will maintain its resolve and
rightfully so. Riddled as sow ~ these
lentils, this meal, these feathers, this ink
shall fuel the fire. A dance in the
pillows of night shall brush the painting
in the autumn of one’s days. Flaccid in
so many ways. Glorified by the shadows of protection,
but only one day is stored for this
intention. Freedom is in the work
engraved beside it, within it, sharing we
celebrate it, and our Brave provide
it. Celebration comes by way of duty
and hard work, and it rises high and
early in the dawn. Yes, on the Fourth
Day of July. Food and pleasures are
gifts for price paid by our Soldiers and
Agencies who protect and defend our
freedom and intelligence, and calmly
watch over it as we carry along. All
under the calm watch of Gods
umbrella. Future dreams are blessed a
same, for all under this Flag by notion
alone, seam and dress and hence sail
with solemn truth. Trusting the winds of
reason to keep us Forever Free and on
course to replenish the soil, for those
young in years. Students in the day
dream of life are in the send to allow
their pen to charter this peaceful but
daunting Nation to one of peace and
prosperity. Willingly and calm the Lion
stares afar from American shores,
Democratic in nature and always
reinventing in this idea we call ~ the
I need you and I want you but you won't be here
I will stand here and fight for you but you'll never do the same and you say you care but you don't I wish you would but wishing is like watering a rock and waiting for it to bloom
You took my heart and slammed it into the ground
You took my demons and trained them to tell me that you weren't there
You destroyed my life making it into ruins with your name carved along the walls You slowly but surely took over each and every thought of mine and turned it against me
You hate me and I love you and this world will never let me understand why
you made me feel incapable
but I am capable
I may be young but my mind works faster than thought or time itself
I learned how to live on my own without being manipulated by your evil words that coursed through my veins
I stopped wishing for you to care because
I may not be able to make a rock bloom into a beautiful flower but I took it and made it into a luminescent rock garden
I picked up my heart and put it back together; piece by piece
I overcame my demons and painted over those ruins and made a masterpiece
I overpowered your ubsurd ways and took over my mind and made myself into something better
you might have made me feel incapable
but I am capable
I came home again,
hoping the thoughts and ties which I had with you were long gone
it has been so long, anyways.
I drove past all the places which we used to go
looking so stoic and almost menacing
as if they were mocking me with what I no longer had.
The time I spent away from this place
only made the memories grow dimmer,
and I hoped I'd never have to visit them myself.
Because when I'm here,
everything seems so much closer
I could just reach out and take your hand
if you'd only allow me to.
Time and distance have been so cruel to me,
the time always being in my favor,
but the distance never the same.
I wonder when I can come home without you chiseling your way through my skull
and into my mind.
I took a long drive alone,
and wondered what it would be like with you in the seat next to me
that familiar face
was always so comforting
but it doesn't matter anymore.
I'll do well on my own for a couple days,
maybe even a week,
before I fall back into the same pattern of missing you
and not missing you.
They forgot to tell me that the loneliness after you left
would always be worse than the loneliness before we met.
i'm growing much faster than this cage will allow.
my back and my arms are contorted and stiff.
i got a gargoyle body
with the mind of a nymph.
my brain is feeling like that in relation to my skull.