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Sonkei Ichimaru Nov 2014
Yesterday I saw an old woman sitting by a pond. She was alone, looking at the water in deep thought. I thought to myself, “Once she was me.” Once she loved someone; once she was happy about something I once was happy of and once she was saddened about something that once saddened me. I wondered, what she was pondering. Was she thinking about the concluding chapters in her life, or the decisions she made in her life. Was she thinking about Ben, whom she met at fifteen, or Thomas who would later marry her at twenty-five? If she were to give me advice, what would it be? Would she have said, “Follow you dreams”, or perhaps “Live life to its fullest”? She barely made any gestures as she was pondering that which my being craved to perceive. Without turning to me, she said, “Maybe a greater thing will happen, maybe you’ll pull through.” This is a story of a woman I met on a certain day, at a certain spot. All I know is that whatever she was pondering was rich and not mediocre. Whatever lost her, whatever made her gaze at the gently moving water was of worth. By merely looking at her looking away, I too became lost, lost to realms that exist above our own in distant lands. I saw the beauty of age, for the first time, through this woman. I will always remember her and may she always remember me. I will name her, The White Haired Princess of Distant Lands, lands that exist within the soul and beyond the visible stars.
Read this whilst listening to "The Afters - Beautiful Love"
Wuji Seshat Oct 2014
i

Love is like a foreign language
once you hear it, you want to hear it more
speak it without it sounding alien
though she will behave here

as in a schoolbook for a foreign language
where we are all beginners
all sometimes say ***** words

ii

Without meaning to, she reaps
She sleeps, she washes, she softens
to its touch because it was made for her
like attachment, and for him like pleasure

love has no vowels, no translations, no silence
only a universal physicality and spirituality
that makes you have no defenses, you

iii

Trying not to love doesn’t bring you anywhere
it’s creative to let her use you
she is the last refugee and the first politics
she comes back in the evening when

your world is torn upside down with bills
it’s love that cooks for you darling
she whispers to you, “I’m taking you home”.
Regine Santos Oct 2014
Late for work.
That annoying person.
Errands, here and there.
Chaos.

Temperance.

Pressure...more pressure.
My head is spinning
Deadlines and challenges.
I want to give up.

I step outside to run from it all.
I am still seething with anger.

Silence.

Then I see your face.
Your hand in mine.
And everything just fade into the dark.

My sanctuary.
Beloved, I take refuge in the stronghold of *Your love.
Prayer of thanks
Take a glimpse,
Let it linger like vapor.
Feed off its energy.
The human imagination is a nation,
Conquered only by dreamers.

It's a diversion and a refuge.

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

(Originally written 10/30/10
Revised 9/27/14)
I came here to seek refuge
I came here and slept in refuse
And when I searched for help, I found no love​
When I cried for freedom, I couldn’t see above
So I gave my life, heart to you

I fell into you and found refuge
I fell into you and I couldn’t refuse
You took my life and squeezed me dry
You burnt my soul and left me high
So I lost my head, myself to you

All I wanted was refuge
All I wanted was not to be refused
Exchanging depression for oppression
Repression for apparent expression
And I gave my love, my whole to you

What I found was false refuge
What I needed was to refuse
I worked the night and pushed the day
I cruised for hope and fought dismay
Not for me, I fought for you

Time slowed and all became pain
I held my breathe and felt the strain
You tore my heart out from my chest
Held it above its open nest
You said you left me. But I left you

And now I clearly live in refuge
And sleep in peace and always refuse
I want the finer things in life
Not to be the minor thing in life
I fight for me now not for you
Prabhu Iyer Jul 2014
On a shore flooded in the tide.

Now     on a         flitting            log:

Rain,     trying     to fill up
the ridges white,

that,      I,             along with
*****, snails and           tiny        starfish
are ambling to escape from.

The trees, they are       laughing wet.
As are the            distant           waves,
snapping on returns.
Trying to gather together impressions from a visit to the coast on the Arabian Sea: spaces are meant to reflect pauses: a style tribute to good old Ezra Pound!
My refuge--
The world is a blur of
Colorless colors,
A kaleidoscope of what never was.
Gray has even ceased to exist.

My refuge--
I never want to be left alone,
But that's the only way I can survive.
People aren't always human,
And they destroy whatever they touch.

My refuge--
Things are never easy,
The things should be perfect now.
Whatever I try
I can't ever do.

My refuge--
A peaceful darkness surrounds.
I would rather be here than
In the kaleidoscope.
The world makes me dizzy.

My refuge--
I'm stuck in the cold again.
Crying,
Nothing is there to reach out to.
Hand holds are too slippery.

My refuge--
I am just a problem.
A horrible human,
An ugly being.
I don't mean to make them fight.

My refuge--
It's all my fault.
I can't do things right,
I will never be good.
Silence now arrests.

My refuge--
Protect me like you always do,
Calm the storm and
Give me strength
To face the world again.

Thank you--
My refuge.
Solferino: a purplish red dye from Solferino, Italy.
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