Sauntering along A. Avenue,
Two groups of people I see:
Clowns, frolicking with their masks
And dead souls float unfree,--

Soaking in my mirror’s depth,
In Charon’s boat, I sat
Seeking answers, these coins to spare --
To which group will I be at?

For the lady who sees it all, Mahkhon

Scribes gather –
Words tucked between
Laughter and Memories, hidden
For them to find and tell.

A river fairy she is,
Papyrus reeds, her wings.
A naiad, watching bubbles,
Reading hearts, --
Precious bubbles, a keeper
In four years.

Seven Years past,
The fairy is a Woman, Who
Bears keen eyes with ken.

Imagine her delight,
For each bubble pricked,
Truth, love, stories unwrapped.

A seer uncurls the scrolls,
An oracle whispered to gentle Wind:
A dandelion she is
Made for the skies,
Lift her up ---
But kindly change her not.

For*  Marianne, a  woman  with  an  unusual  heart

I know her, perhaps by a pinch of night air,
Because we share the same music, same voice that night in Guadalupe,
After a day of toils for hearts climbing upon ladders, unending stairs.

I know her, perhaps half of those golden strings,
Because we share the same air of jollity that day in Enchanted kingdom,
Gasping for air, breathing faintly, yet enthralled by the twists and turns of magic.

The heart most tried is the strongest, like the gold tested in fire,
I know her.

I know her, perhaps the fullness of the orange moon,
Because we share the same water under the canopy of azure skies, that brief reprieve the El  Nido offers,
Sharing the same tongue of honesty we speak that night, I respect her.

I know her, perhaps more than she knows herself,
But that’s an unforgivable lie, indescribable it is to fathom a woman with an unusual heart,
Because hers, speaks of metaphors.

should a sparrow sing
its apology every time
its neighbor retrieves
a bone of horror
interred on
its nest?