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  May 8 Sally A Bayan
Deb Jones
Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace.
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go.
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living.
And the child born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, good and gay
  May 8 Sally A Bayan
I'll sing you a rainbow song
I'll sing you a lullaby
I'll tell you why
Just close your eyes
And fly.


Her heartbeats are imperturbable,
ready to face any day
blue skies, or gray,
with, or,
without uncertainties.
no words said, just thoughts progress
in the silence of after midnight hours,
her eyes and mind go far, beyond the
dark horizon, she's a bird flying early
morning...soars over shadowed trees
and mountains...well before light,
she perches on the window sills of
her real world.

in the kitchen, she fries sausages and
potatoes...her mind travels with the
rising steam of coffee brewing,
tiptoe-ing on sad waters,
then basks in unforgettable moments past,
as voices from far away lands,
and even those
who are long gone
still echo
and dwell within her.

she faces life's adversities with true grit,
is toughened by pain, by loss...and by
grief, that sometimes...refuses to die.

her happiness springs from shallow waters.
she regrets not, about her goals foregone,
content, that, once in her life, she had her
dreams...and wished upon many stars.

eyes and heart often wander upon hills
and valleys, she fondly calls "home,"
sun-wrapped at day, shadowed at night,
it is where her soul.....freely roams.

she is wife, mother, grandmother, sister,
a friend, a caregiver, a voice...a pursuer of
truths...all she needs to be...for the sake
of her loved ones.....she is WOMAN.


sally b

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
   May 8, 2021
Sally A Bayan Apr 28
:::::::::::::: 🎼 🎷🎷🎷🎼 :::::::::::::

Late hours of a Saturday night,
the shadowed man
toyed with his sax, and played
a beautiful excerpt from,
soon, it skillfully...beautifully
segued to its main piece,
"It Was Almost Like A Song."

the space was scarcely lighted,
there were whispers, yet, all listened.
eyes were glued to the darkened face
of the shadowed man.
they hummed,
as they held their glasses of wine.
some softly sang the lyrics.

the pieces he played each night,
were journeys,
he took his audience
cruising along a boulevard,
drenched with the blues.
that unfathomable sadness
in his eyes spoke
of a brokenness,
louder...than words.

there in the dark, as he played his sad
songs, a face always accompanied him,
a face he longed to see,
somewhere in a cold place,
who had so much love
and warmth in her heart.

while he finds comfort in the shadows,
he often asks himself,
"until when will i be playing this song ?
until when, will i be,
in the shadows?"
:::::::::::­::: 🎼 🎷🎷🎷🎼 :::::::::::::

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 28, 2021
#sax #silhouettes #almostlikeasong #shadowedman
“eye now know
the how, when, where and the-why,
my Eyes compose this elegy
memories of past and present...
blending into memories of future happenstance”

what is chosen is believed
though the choices are presented -
I choose among the sacrificial burnt offerings  

this, my will is free
though the path is circumscribed, ordained

the bus has a route it follows,
but the speed and timing  governed by
chances made by me
and you
me and random things spliced.and sundered

get on me
get off me
What does this life desire of me,
that it granted and
then removed,
the knowledge of perfection?
leaving me striving,
shivering unceasingly,
in my saddened, bursting,
hacking and hackneyed chest
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