by this man-made lake a steady drizzle hums, the sun, yesterday’s news as nature’s palette turns green and gray.
staring into the gun metal sky she nuzzles her hennaed hair into his gandhian lap, mesmerized by the pitter patter she dubs, as tears from heaven.
a bow-shaped stone bridge on the near horizon, red-eared sliders floating on the water, the pencil thin architectural skyline, even the floating melancholy mute swan beckons monet to rise like the phoenix and have a second go at whimsical life
but not me, with a cornucopia of life-scars to show, and a ticking clock that’s monotonously relentless, this trip to the crease better be the last time at bat
You stay where I live— no I live where I stay, as livelihood is doing in my head. Girls with pictures—pictures with girls, so few left in my phone. These are just running thoughts, as I’m chasing dreams; as a working mind in them. Skeleton hours; dead in the night, as it’s just another shift. But it slips in these grinding gears, like winter rains slipping on the road.
Under the cold whispering of previous night’s wind, reminded of a cold world out there. Be it truth to live by—amongst liars to speak such is dare, and quite frankly rare. But I’m none impressed by trends, tread your grounds carefully of where you walk. Don’t slip up on your feet, bruising your knees on the winter rains slipping on the road.
A side note of my love to rhyme... by second nature to plan the ending word to second line. Bringing it back this time to the starting rhyme, and referring to the second rhyme by the fourth line. Words slip easily off the tongue, dented like winter rains slipping on the road.
This poem inspired was inspired by my walk through shortcuts to work. Black wet tarmac, holes in every direction. Back and forth, cars roam and go. My breath visible in this morning cold. A sight in dilated eyes; towards the sight of the winter rains slipping on the road.
i listen to the dead bird sing, as it lays footsteps for me to follow, when the wind howls into my soul i hear the whirring echo a pregnant fear, a jitter of soul's trauma. this is not a fairytale, it sings. small drops of water that fall from the sky you shall forget the wisp of rain the touch of grass and the breath of ocean air you shall forget it's feeling. if you keep listening to me, it says. everything of warmth will evaporate. and you'll be left with only my voice. but i want to keep listening to the dead bird's song. because it is beautiful. because it touches my soul. And plants a seed of magical numbness just enough to not feel everything else that would be gone. i want the prelude to end. and the chorus to begin.
i have taken sight of her in all of her forms every corner and curve and i have never seen anything so implicitly beautiful in my entire existence i have seen her with outstretched arms receive the drizzling tears the rain bleeds out on a sunday morning i have seen her body draped across the horizon basking in the warmth of the unforgiving april sun i have seen her blush at the sight of rosy pink skies cascading on her cheeks i have heard her sing when the zephyrs brush the strings of her eyelids.
the first time and all the times after, this encounter, i will tuck it safely in the pockets of my memory until death calls for my last breath.
i was so happy writing this mygod u should've seen the early morning rain at the creek where u could see the myriad of ripples the rain sheds on the still waters at 6 am it was so pretty rahhhasdasdjhk
"Underneath" (2020, Jasna Veličković), composition for hyperorgan and coils, performed by her in the Organpark on May 20th, 2022 and May 28th, 2022 (on May 20th, 2022 as part 1 of a chain composition by ten composers)
She was sewn from a stream of significant disasters, but she has taken charge of the tide. Directing the course of the storm, she became one with the fiercest gyre. The lightning, the moment through the raging sea, the season of her storm is done. The smell of the after-rain, the calmness of the shores mended the remnants. A rainbow of colors and vibrance, the abundance of black clouds is gone. The beautiful sky, a magical release from these painful bonds. Courage and kindness, gratitude and strength, the real treasures are now found.