Always remember
That the books
Who are the most worn
The most torn and ripped
The most broken

Those books are that way
Because everyone loved them
For what was inside

~

Fireflies float silently on this
whispered night resembling
stardust shimmers dancing
playfully on a black velvet sky
Your hand in mine, as we walk
breathing in the essence of twilight
following the glistening glow
down a winding pathway leading
to a clearing in the dense trees
where we sit, watching the
hustle and bustle of the city below
It is our city, where we work and play
but this is our spot were we go
to get away from it all,
to share our love
alone in the serenity  
*of our perfect evening

~ ~ ~ A POEM FOR PRADIP ~ ~ ~
(a repost)

In these early hours of evening
when sun has dipped down, hiding
cold has set in, warmth cooled by wind blowing,
your words haunt me, left me pondering.

For a sunshine poem, you asked,
but how? when it is now dusk,
there is no sun,  only dark to show,
not even a moon aglow.

All i see are fiery dots of light, shimmering
in the garden, i am alone, wondering
I do not see them closely
yet, i feel they could be friendly.

They are luminous lanterns, seemingly beaming,
could these suffice to keep your flame burning?

In the widening dark, they bask
to perform their given task
carrying drops of hope with their sparkles,
scattered ***** of chances, radiated by lighted candles.
They are so tiny, collectively bright,
wandering, even on a moonless summer night...

I have not one sunshine poem for you,
instead, thousands of Fireflies, i offer you
to let their light shine  upon your  face
dry every bit of sadness, leaving not a trace.
to dry tears hidden
ease your shoulders laden.

I wish i could see your smile
hug you, even just for a while
wear your sombrero
'til day after tomorrow.


I pray my words have beamed enough,
to save your day, to see you through...


F I R E F L I E S

by

Sally



Copyright  September 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Tell me if lavenders still smell from my collar,
When these earthly clothes are fresh from the wash,
When night turns dawn, and cloud from star,
And love's precarious, fleeting, flash.*

© 2015 J.S.P.