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Lana Oct 17
Sitting slumped over in a warm pool of red
While the thought of leaving you swirls in my head
I start to feel sleepy and softly blow bubbles
I start to remember all of my troubles
My reasons to go are stronger than our love
I love you so much it kills me to go
when the water rushes to fill
my ears, I hear the ever-present,
rarely-heard drum
of my own heart beating
at the edge of the water,
I can feel it around my face
as my eyes blur upwards,
here I am blinking and thinking
always thinking,
or maybe deliberating
arguing, even, with myself
pushing the thoughts of drowning
to the back of my mind again
distracted by the soft hum of it
the music I have going
on the sink, by the tub,
filled with water
filled with me
pulling my knees
to examine the bruises
scattered across my legs
a deep breath in,
hold it while pure silence
envelopes me, there
I close my eyes
let the thoughts continue
let them be
im happy
Kavya Mukhija Oct 12
Every moment spent with you etched itself
On the canvas that my mind was;
Like the elite form of calligraphy
I wanted to treasure life long
Until the pages turned yellow
And smelled of must.
So, in a bid to treasure even those moments of low-yet-high level exchanges,
I laughed until my eyes sparkled
And tears welled up to the brim,
Imitating an ocean, just as how you would say
So, I laughed
And I laughed until I cried.
Years down the line, today when you are oceans across,
In a land that you now call your own,
I sleep with the bubbles your memories
Safely tucked under the lids of my eyes
Until the lids feel heavy and are shut tightly
And the bubbles burst,
Gushing our memories out from the clasp of my eyelids.
They seep in through the knittings of the pillow,
Into the gateways of my mind
Slowly, drop by drop.
I dreamt of us that night
And I laughed until I cried.
Who said
sound is a vibration
that travels at a bizarre speed?

I saw it softly floating
ensconced in bubbles
to a celestial gravity
that pulls them up
to the realm of idyllic bliss.

Bubbles exude the
brilliant hues of my yearnings,
wrap me inside
their merino fleece warmth,
hold me to their *****
with the tenderness
I ever cherish in my soul.

Sound nestles in its heart
a mesmeric glow of music
ordained to play
the salute note
to augur the birth of a
new hankering.

The woeful flute
of the gypsy maiden
soulfully sings
a melancholy melody
for her lost love
to get a phoenix’s wings
under the silver mist of the
new moon’s splendour.
Giggles from the child as water
runs down her back, matching
the swinging wind chimes just outside
the wide-open window. Her mother
smiles, her shirtsleeves rolled up and
yet wet and covered in tiny bubbles.
The white tile around them glistens
in the sunlight pouring in, and I,
the grinning dad who just got home,
stand in the doorway, softened clay.
My wife, my beautiful wife,
looks up at me and says “Hey honey,”
and runs another small jug of bathwater
over my baby’s soft head of hair.
The little one trickles out “Hi Daaaaddy,”
and giggles again, as her mother scrubs
her little back and shoulders. Seeing this
scene in front of me, my eyes water
slightly. I pull it back in; after all
these years it’s still difficult for me to
simply be joyous. Nonetheless, there is
an ache in my heart, the ache one feels
when they first fall in love, and I am standing
here falling all over again. I roll up my sleeves
and drop to my knees, and give my wife
and my sweetie the biggest pecks I can muster,
and clean her delicate little arms. The mother
pours another jug, and once again, this little
darling angel, like wind chimes swinging outside,
Gary Brocks Aug 28
At four, you took my hand and pulled me to your bed,                                                            
your small form cuddling, curling, you urgently said,
"Tell me… tell me a story! Story, make it long",
I began to tell the story, the story of when you were born.

Drums and bugles, bubbles and balloons,
somersaulting clowns and calliope tunes,
you came out to meet them, on the day that you were born,
and they were there to greet you, through a January storm.

Lions and gorillas marched to military airs,
snowmen and snowwomen danced without a spring time care,
somewhere in the harbor, a tugboat played a note,
and all the while you smiled a smile, upon a birthday float.

Just like a circus troupe, we formed a great parade,
and sauntered to the birthing bed where your mother lay,
she picked you up, she held you, as close as close can be,
her hand in mine, she softly said, “Now... we are three.”

Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks

Children always want to know who their parents are; their thoughts, hopes, dreams, fears and actions at stages in their lives.
This poem, a poem in several parts (only the first part here), portrays a father for his child, through the manner in which the story of the child's birth is retold at various stages in their life together.
Don’t you burst my bubble
Or rain on my parade
I’m walking on sunshine
Not stepping in your shade

I am on a high
Things are going fine
Got a spring in my step
And I’m feeling divine

Join me if you want to
But do not bring me down
Had enough of negativity
And never will I drown

Firing on all cylinders
Bursting with energy
Feeling light and zingy
Effervescent and carefree

As if I could actually fly
To the magical end of a rainbow
On the wings of a unicorn
Wafting which way the wind blows

Through iridescent, turquoise skies
And fluffy cappuccino clouds
Dodging dancing golden rays
That glisten all around

This vibe is sublime
I’m not causing any trouble
So stay out of my way
I won’t let you burst my bubble.
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