fields of lavender
as far as the eye can see,
in rows of scented purple
growing insatiable idiosyncrasies,
our minds are a rich, deep soil
and the children of our thoughts
run free,

run free
and light,
run free
and careless,
like a river to the sea.

the heart is programmed
to be broken,
to let in the light,
and the earth in us is woken,
our heart will open,
it will open,

when we take in our first
breath of this heaven.

/-\          
                    /----\
                  /-------\
                /----------\  
               /----_----\
              /-----|   |-----\
\ // (\ /  /------|   |------\ ) // \ / /( // \////
|||||||||||||[||]||||||||||||||||||||||
-----------------------------------------------


On hot days, out on errands...dealing
with a quicksand situation...maybe a
quicksand of not so useful thoughts,
i close my eyes, to find a calm moment,
in a sea of honking cars and blabbering
voices....to stop a pounding headache,
.........to find some silence....but,
.................................................­...

"How does one find silence, anyway?"
.....................................................

D­eep among tiresome thoughts,
i take flight......a short bridge,
an ascending road,
with rows of quaint coffee shops,
small diners that serve hot, fresh
and delicious home-made meals.

Walk farther on...turn right, to  
a guarded entrance...towards a
hilly, sloping walk...tough, painful
to the thighs and legs...headed to
a humble  abode...a small white  
house...a white gate with white fence.

The dogs are such noisy welcomers,
five ladies, all accurate storytellers;
i gladly listen to both...then, sit by
the small graveled space, with potted
philodendrons, succulents, and crotons,
lush from the daily rain showers...always
the best place to detox, to heal, all ways.

Being there at a graveled refuge, sipping
some sunset cuppa coffee, while gazing at
a copper-hued horizon, kind of unleash
a silence, so peaceful, it is where hot
summer winds...turn to cool breezes.

Amidst cacophony, silence is found
when flooded with notions of home,
.........../\ as if i were there /...........


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 9, 2025

We climb the Koro hill.

Forty years and still ascending
gives a good feel.

We stand under a Madhuca tree
blossoming in March heat and rain.

From the hilltop
the valley down below
looks dreamy grey.

We've greyed and graded
past full bloom.

In the wafting fragrance of Madhuca
we pray to hold on
for some more.