atop the earth in infinite space,
there exists a minuscule speck of dust
void of light, engulfed by shadows
hovering above its once vibrant greens and blues;
the harbinger of winter’s wrath, waiting to wreak havoc,
as we brace for the inevitable: the severing of our intertwined friendship.

wind and salt, winter injuries
browned your needles ruthless, a worrisome sight.
i prayed that you won’t be everbrown,
incapable of rebirth.
i prayed that you’ll still flaunt your emerald needles
despite the wounds winter inflicted upon you
under my command.
forgive me.

sunlight penetrates a bleak world barren—
a blissful augury of spring.
alas, we’re greeted with repetitious sights;
short plant stems forcing their way
through the infinitesimal cracks of fertility
amidst the sterile soil.
light deprived creatures basking in the warmth of aureate rays.
only to wither again, only to hibernate again.
though we are different, shedding our dead needles, only to reveal the colour of life: green.

we are shackled by roots, bound to samsara
revived only to die again.
though we’re mutinous beings, stubbornly fighting to retain our foliage
unafraid to defy nature’s laws, outliving death
albeit being a piece of nature itself, existing in this realm.
oh! another xylem ring, another year.
united, we shall prevail forevermore
as we are evergreens, defying all odds.

-amelie

twisting groves of evergreen feel so serene...
comforting to my sore hands in the stream...
violets leap and leopards grow...
springing from the ground to and fro.
the pale blue sky recovers from a dawn-absent night,
as i keel over in sudden fright.

where are you taking me?
the scenery twists
green turning to red and red turning to black,
till it all fades to nothing, and never comes back.

oh, it seems i have awoken.
the morning lilacs twist and turn
inside the little ceramic urn.
the room is barren but for two paintings
one with stripes and one that’s caving
where have you taken me?
i approach one in curiosity
wonder and excitement filling me hurriedly.
the lilacs are at my feet now
lulling me in and telling me to sleep now
      sleep, sleep, they call out in longing.
i must listen to their calling.
i wander through the spiraling air
over to their dusty lair.
and then death himself rises me up,
his presence and hurried silence stifling me far enough
i was taken into a large, red portal,

and then i saw the evergreen again.
and then everything faded to black.






               and then i died.

I am no gardener, but I do know this:
Perennials and orchards need the kiss
Of an early frost, a freezing deep,
To hold them whole through winter’s keep

A bloom in false spring, (winter’s hollow),
Before the heavy snows that follow,
Will have the cell walls bursting, cracking,
Freezing, thawing, expanding, contracting.

So too, must dreams lay dormant still,
Or else becoming Winterkill.
Much as I wish them to bloom, bloom now,
They must lay under the mulch and bough.

I tell myself, “Learn what you can from the season”
Patience, Myopia, Acceptance sans reason -
You are stuck in the wheel, right here and right now,
Hearing naught in the dark, muffled underground.

Yet I am no seedling! I am no tree!
Though my flesh warms and cools just as easily.
So why should I wait? Why be pinned by the cold?
Do I have a choice in the story that’s told?

Could I be a cold crocodile, nose above ice,
Or hibernate warm with the marmots and mice?
Why not come in from the outside to thaw,
And savor small tidbits of hope in my maw?

Could I choose to fly south, or to stay evergreen?
Must I really wait for the melt to be seen?
I wonder, though I’m sure from what seed I have come,
Is it winter that dictates what I will become?

MOON
Proud? No. Yes you are.
Think that you are the most beautiful
So you are there as  you are.
None can replace you.
You are the night dream girl
No men are not here
Without appreciate your beauty.
Who are you? Where are you from?
When look at you no other thoughts.
You are the unwritten epic and
Undrawn image giving name and
Fame too many legend poets
You are evergreen love to lovers.
Arise, fair moon waiting to see you
To  praise your beauty.
Also waiting to get thought of you my moon.
                                                         -LEISHGN RAJ

These emotions fuel fires,
I get excited watching them burn.
Every time I look it has a new flare,
So bright I don’t want to look away,
It spreads and I don’t care,
I let it destroy just to watch it go.
I sit here tossing more gasoline,
just to smell the evergreen,
It only lasts as long as it burns.
you’d think the arsonist would be the one who learns,
but mistakes don’t make lessons if they feel good,
when you think you can fix them on your own,
you only get so far till you get what you’ve sown.

Seeing her bald seemed pretty fascinating,
While he wondered if anyone would ever look that beautiful without hair.

since i was small,
i wanted to live forever.

every dawn is a hit of reality
and i’m eager for another.
and another.
and another.

i exhale, my cool breath hitting the air -
flavored with desperation;
is it so wrong to want more?

i wilt, only slightly, thinking about the end.

when i slouch in my chair,
i feel my heart shift closer to the soil at my feet

and i do not sink in the midst
of the flood -
i do not lose myself in the rainwater
pooling at my ankles -
i do not clench my eyes shut,
fearing where i will go
when i do

i need this more than you,
i swear.

and when i feel the back of the chair
digging into my spine
or the quiet, creeping ache of age
tugging on strands of my hair,
i resist; i deny it

the adrenaline of dawn’s kiss
is my defense against the rot,
but the night reminds me
of being small with skinned knees and a medicated wish.

i surrender, subject to the infestation of memory -
yet, my oldest prayer continues to echo
in every inch of this room:

sempervirens, sempervirens
(always green, always green)

you, an ever-changing evergreen – are
lovelier than yesterday’s morning rain, and
more curious than tomorrow’s budding lilacs.
lost, i find myself in your lively touch.
my pain, the mirror i peer into when i pick up a pen;
i smooth my hair, wipe the snow dust from the corners of my eyes, say a prayer.
am i a vessel of love and devotion?
or simply, am i a constant sea of fault
left bruised – bruised like rotten fruit that has fell from the tree.
if i could meet your gaze, instead of
dreaming in verses,
i would press my fingers to yours
and all but flinch at your needles
as they ***** my skin.
i envy nothing about your days – dim, even when the sun dresses in her sunday best –
except, that your immortal wisdom
is a sunset i will never see:
like a clockmaker with no sense of time,
like a bodyguard with no inner strength.
my hobby – collecting comparisons:
lining up metaphors like calendar days.
words cannot mend your pain like they mend mine

poetry moves my mountains, but will never move yours

you, an ever-constant evergreen – are
lovelier than tomorrow’s starry sky, but
trapped. if i could meet your gaze,
i would close my eyes