Surely
I am but a wisp of smoke
Swirling boundless
To and fro

Out of the fire
A non-corporeal host

Stinging eyes
Burning nose
Cough me out
Or start to choke

Surely
I am but a wisp of smoke

Another cloud
Another soul
Into thin air
Watch me flow

Out the window
And down the road!

Surely I was
A wisp of smoke...

The wind, a sly lover, lifting my silken dress,
I sway with abandon, revealing soft tenderness,
Wind, with lips so eager, tracing each subtle finesse,
With each rising current, my heated blush will express,
I surrender to breezes that stir my wild restlessness.

Sweet face
Mellow voice
Irresistible person
Lovely human
Everything I need

Perhaps another chapter completed,
Abruptly you must say, you didn't see it coming.
It was fun and folly with a hint of healing.
At first the story was not appealing,
Then finding oneself reading
in elaborate details, basking in such entertainment,
Occasionally arguing on its illogical stance.
Out of the blue, the story threw in scientific facts and unsolicited advice,
Followed by apologies for the untamed lingua.
Somehow the familiarity lingered,
Seeking tranquility in every chapter.

The fall that leaves the traces of cold
Footsteps with chilling fog
bruised hand with warmth of blaze
That gives the hope in unspoken eyes
The hand which was frozen with twist of fate,
softens with the half century wood
An ember that tells the story of survival

Me Tarzan you Jane
misogynistic ape man --
Lord of the jungle

Why would I eat if the lies inside me fill me up? 'Til there's nothing but half-truths trapped inside. I plead, scream, beg for someone to hear my cry but it's locked deep within me.
The pain I feel when I look in the mirror; why? Why do I hate myself?
Hate my hair,
my hips,
my thighs,
my stomach,
my smile.
I won't look anymore.
I can't bear to see who's staring back.
Shatter the mirror!
Distort the already broken image.
How much more damage could I do to myself before I'm through?
The scale wails when I approach; the fourth time in a day. When the numbers fall, I let out a sigh of relief, but when they rise…
What can I do?
What would you do if you couldn't be you?
Everyone's words are pointless. If its not the voice inside my head it doesn't matter. Nothing can satisfy my need to feel empty—to feel proud of the monster I’d become.

Today was tough going
but knowing how tough
things can get
I got going too.

'We have never had it so good'
oh
please tell me if you could
when was that?

the rains have ended
night whispers its cooler words
you are my blanket

There’s no point in searching for it,
we’ll find it one day, understood.
We must understand ourselves,
so that we can be who we are.

East...and west, are we?
north, and south?.....maybe...
we were nurtured with love,
our eyes and our minds opened
to different isms that helped shape our
values...we were brought up, bearing our
folks' customs, traditions. principles...
we have different faiths...some practice...some
don't...some, don't even subscribe, yet, survive.

we have dry and monsoon season...in
other parts, pleasant weather, cold winds,
and in some parts, snow.....turning to ice

we are  a mix of white skin, seeking for a tan,
and brown-skin, hiding from the sun;
one's night, is the other's day,
there are surfers among us, playing with the waves,
there at the cusp...gambling...daring fate...
there are those who hide from silent freezing winters,
finding warmth and comfort in long hot summers...

countless points of comparison,  
yet, we've something beautiful in common,
a connection of feelings, of words...our poetry,
flowing like blood, through our veins...endlessly
feeding, fueling our hearts and minds, with classy,
themes....sometimes bold, mushy, or....sassy...
no set skeds...we do it even through adversity...

we write......

we tell about our escape from life's banalities,
mindscapes, landscapes immersed in frivolities

yet, we await the marvels of each  morning we wake,
remembering gratitude, in every breath we take...

years have passed us by,
still, plays this soft music that mollifies
and inspires......heard only by you and i
prodding us, through hours, of day or night

while you exist in your own part of the world,
as i, in my hot, humid cosmos, long for cold.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::


Sally


© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    May, 19, 2019