We cross paths year after year,
Your longwinded narratives
were never quite clear..
Now I can see you for who you are,
participant in separation
ethnic cleansing and war!

I don’t put you in darkness
Nor **** the disease
I don’t take it personal that you’ve been deceived.
But mostly,
what ever ethnicity you claim you are…
We all came down from the heavens
and we’re all made of stars.

Docile and tame,
A king slain by his own sword
Self inflicted pain
My shelf life would be considered inhumane
A body originally set to be a temple
Is now unlivable domain

©2024

They reside between pages of
magazines, books or journals.
some are yellow...some, white,
jaundiced
by neglect and by time,
lined or otherwise, upon which
are written spur of the moment
thoughts, maybe some nagging
experiences that can't be forgot.
they live amongst fellow papers,
unexplored,
crumpled, dog-eared.

Sun and moon
alternate,
while the unknown
waits.

Finally,
when found again,
the desire to resurrect
rings and echoes like an
indiscreet chime;
suddenly,
a crowd of ideas confuse
the hand and pen...soon
enough, words fall into their
proper places...old scribbled
notes, rediscovered and
revivified, a new poem is born.

Some, unfortunately,
are deleted unconsciously,
or thrown away accidentally,
some are purposely hidden
amongst life's in-betweens.

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  June 25, 2024

आषाढ  शुरू में बरसा मेह
ज्यों धरा पर उतरा हो नेह
कल-कल कानों में ध्वनि
ज्यों बागों में आई हो सजनी।।

मेह -वर्षा
नेह-प्रेम