It's a space within a space, where
all are transparent...i am myself.

On two layers of shelves on a wall,
a dictionary and a thesaurus,
share space with what seems like
an heirloom of books, old and new:
Gibran, Dylan Thomas, Dickinson,
Bronte, P. B. Shelley, Jane Eyre,
Hosseini, few Ludlum oldies, etc...

Here, a blending of the tangible and
the intangible is present, like habits
and thoughts that don't, and can't die,
stuffs that've endured the years: old
unposted poems with scribbled notes,
faded photos in sepia...faded jeans;
a bed that awaits fatigued body and
mind on toxic days, and becomes a
desk to write on...when needed.

It's not as though nothing's awry,
imperfections are seen by the eyes,
some details may not be precise
in this accepted clutter of daily goings-
on...of feelings...of some undoings
that interrupt and are mingling
with enigmas flashing up the ceiling;
lost shoe-laces wander, and go hiding
among indispensable habits and things,
kept...retained, like a hanging purse,
grabbed, when a sudden trip occurs.

It's hot and cold in this ***** place,
it's cozy, my neatly-cluttered space.



sally b

Rosalia Rosrio A. Bayan
March 24, 2022

🌄

From the kitchen door, i watch
orange and pink layers of a
fading sun, pale and quickly vanish.
sky gets dimmer by the minute.

On this fragrant twilight,
"Queen of the Night" blossoms,
infuse the dark atmosphere
with their long lasting scent,
still appearing white,
even in the darkest of night.

Somewhere, in the garden blocks
a resident bull frog hides and croaks.

A brush of cold breeze blends
with tonight's scenes, sounds and scents,
easing...relaxing stiff, tensed muscles,
untangling this busy day's knotted tassels.

A bowl of peanuts is tempting me,
while feet are repeatedly flexing.
tiny sweats on glass touch my skin,
Pinot Grigio is cold as evening dew,
and...as if on cue,
Harry Connick easily sings,
......"It Had To Be You."

I hope for a new day without sorrow,
for another fragrant twilight, tomorrow.




sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

❤️


Conversations are brief surprises,
sweet, like unexpected presents,
polite, yet laced with
genuine affection and
a growing fervour;
with every farewell,
strength flies with the wind,
almost...like breath, departing
         :::::::::
for, love hides...confines itself
in the ***** of the heart, it is
known, and yet, not known, but
silently exuding a sweet scent,
a subtle fragrance...more enduring
than a gentle spray of White Linen,
or, dabs of Dolce and Gabbana...its
scent lingers, the nostrils remember.
it clings deeper, dwelling on skin pores,
in every fiber of the mind...in the veins
that carry blood, to and from the heart.
            ::::::::::
it is a fragrance so reassuring,
never vanishing...more calming,
more relaxing than a glass, or two
of chilled Champagne, or sweet Moscato
           :::::::::::
it exists, even without the sun,
for, it has a light of its own,
a torch, but, with a tamed flame,
it burns subtly...even in quiet airs.

        ::::::::::
        .........
        ......
        ...­.

            
              
  

             sally b

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February 14, 2022