Tiny gods mumur profanities
Docile hands, obtuse in their promise
Feed warm solace to pigeons in the park
I need heaven to smile
The sky needs to open its mouth wide
So stars come alive
I need my words to become famous
To cavort thru adolescent eyes
Paper makes a prisoner of trees
Standing alone silent in the breeze

As if like the rushing  of waters;
there is a pouring out
    from the Heavens..

A song..

No..  a voice;

Ah..   a whisper--
from Other-worldly  lips

There is a spirit,  
beautifully aligned;
  A movement..
a trembling of the hips

Floodgates  of Vapor
Floodgates  of Steam
Within the liquid,
Crystalline Luster

Falling down..
like words, Spoken


..Into the Unspoken words
  of an Unspoken Dream

081324

These days, I skipped my morning routines.
No coffee breaks, no late meals.
I lost not just the appetite for food
But also the appetite to mingle and crack some jokes.

So, it’s just me —
And this isolation was so familiar.
Just like the old days of resisting my “tiny self.”
The so-random thoughts don’t even help at all…
I was stuck in this shell and it wasn’t well-curated.

My body aches with the unknown tensions
And so I pulled the strings off my mind,
Stretched out my feet as hard as I can
But inside me was something severe —
Something I hated to encounter.

I speak to my body as I lay down
Turned on my favorite playlist in Spotify
Full of worship instrumental
And empowering podcasts
Calming my soul to take a pause and simply rest.

Goodnight to the bed bugs that bite
As I shake off the fluffy pillows on my feet.
Then I cover myself with a hand-me-down blanket.
The pain was intense
So I had to grab my pills to give myself a lesson.

I used to glide my left hand
Reaching out my French-bulldog
Named after HP’s Luna Lovegood.
But this time, I made her sad for not playing around.

I know, she’s tired of me too
We stared to each other for days
And all I can see was her scared eyes.
Most of the times, she jumps off her feet
But this was no longer the old times — she’s changed.

I went outside to breathe
But it’s like an open freezer to me.
I ***** when I eat and the aching doesn’t stop.
My body’s tired of murmuring her pleads...
I know and I can feel her
But I was not ready to comfort her.

I looked at the mirror with pale face.
Having tons of lippies can’t even paint my lips red.
I overthink when I’m upset
So my past time was to write —
It’s like an explosion of joy, anger, fear…
Did I forget the others from Inside Out?

The inner child within me was turned on,
And how could I stop her?
Should I play hide and seek?
I hope it’s the end game already
But I find this as my quiet place too.

080624

Who am I to stop Your power?
For You’re able to release and withhold.
Who am I to declare “I cannot make it”
“I will never be plentiful,”
“I lack everything” or “It is impossible”
For You have the final say,
The final words to rule my identity.

You make distinction to Your children —
The world’s a gong where violence increases
And the love of many grows cold.
For these are the last days
But my spirit longs to be at home.

In all the chaos, I found one consistent voice…
And it’s Your sweet small voice
Knocking off the boulders before my eyes,
And leaving me amazed when time rolls by.

I met the different versions of failures and of victories
And I am used to random transitions.
Sometimes, I still find myself in the edge of the cliff —
Afraid but ready to take the risk
Coz one day, all these sufferings shall pass.

You gave me breath, so I will speak of Your glory.
You renew my strength, so I will empower others.
And you lend me life, so it is Yours to take.
Who am I to call off Your vows?
Who am I to stop from praising You?

I ain’t the master of my own existence
I ain’t sure of what lies ahead
Not what the future holds.
But I know for sure —
You’ll never abandon nor forsake me.

I’m not quitting, Lord
I will not back down
And I will rise just as you have risen.
Your love was written in my heart —
So, bless the Lord, oh my soul.

A blank page blinks
Begging words to appear
I can't seem to think
Months lapse into years

Shake the ink from the pen
Alchemy art from grieving
Change a loss to a win
Turn that mill for demons

Crank out another liter
'Til the pump's run dry
Claw up one last meter
Over that ****'s the sky

Grew up avoiding “I can’t”
My father told me never to say or believe this contraction
Despite and in spite of hiccups and wrong turns
What one puts into matters is as much as what one gets out of the effort
There are situations and outcomes
Does one gamble?
Does one give up?
Choices and Options
The words “I can’t” just don’t compute or connect
You must keep trying to make things happen
There is no room for excuses or “I can’t” in anyone’s life
No room for it

C@rainbowchaser2024

On the bike the rider is a blazing glory
winds to him whisper hair raising story
whizz past houses, trees, and towns
wheels giggle joyous with the ups and downs.

Girls on the sidewalks look up in awe
as the speed streaks on the wrong side of law
the copper burnt hands grip the baby tight
to ride away from dark and into the light.

Through the flash of clouds, torrents of rains
sun on the mountain, sunset's pink stains
piercing the wind, cutting across rainbow
steams the metal man, in seamless flow.

Days nights roll, beneath the grey arch
on an intense pursuit, one frantic search
he looks for a place where a loving hand
will open the door to the God's resting land.

From my 20’s through my 40’s I was the very definition of svelte. Willow thin but shapely, smartly dressed at all times in what would be the next new trend coming down the fashion pipeline. I mingled with people who dabbled in fame and some of it rubbed off on me. In those days I moved in exciting circles. It was painful to watch the years take it away, one increment at a time.  The waistline expanded, new styles appeared ugly, and star studded lovers moved on. I did what I could to hold onto the shine, but I found other mountains to climb.  I conquered new vistas and gathered some trophies, while minutes and years slipped away. So subtly I didn’t pay much attention, I became an old lady who hates having to dress for her age. And refuses.

I still have the photos that prove I was lovely, but no one is asking to see them. I still have the outfits that no longer fit me; they hang in the closet to taunt me.
I’ve learned to make peace with the milieu I live in.  I’m still the svelte damsel inside. I dress in bright colors and billowing fabrics and leave the self judgement behind.
ljm