when I was younger
home was the best place ever.
whether it was birthdays
which now feels like
a long-lost dream. since we lived in a tiny
house. a family of six huddled up together
in a tiny room to celebrate. maybe times
were simpler or maybe we didn’t have much then.
or on days, mum cooks
which always was a rarity.
she never played an active role
but our younger selves made sure
at the end, we’d be grateful.
things began to shift
when we grew older.
the happy house felt like a dark
gloomy one. smiles began to
be replaced by shoutings.
birthdays began to be less common
and sooner like we all imagined
it would become something
attached with the past.
when i became older
i tried becoming friends with
my younger self. somedays were
a disappointment. somedays we faked it.
I’m still trying to.
I think of myself
as an onlooker, an observer.
At times, I live my life
by witnessing it.
At such times
when I step aside from the midst
my anxiety ceases to exist.
My hand traces letters
that will build the scene
It was you that installed
my ability for hope.
Learning was an endless
to which I never grew tired
Your hands held
the weight of my world
in their palms.
All of the joys in this world
Smiles seen for miles
lighting the darkest
Hope came from you.
A most precious
This is part VII of a ten-part story titled "Effulgence: A Story of Light."
If colourlessness was a colour
Let the world be painted colourless
In which I can see through you.
In which you can see through me.
I sit on the counter, feet draped over the sink watching the sun rise over the trees through the open window
As I bring my coffee to my lips I feel the familiar chip
The one that my lips have felt every morning for years
This cup snuggles perfectly between my small hands, the warmth shielding them from the cool spring air
This cup has been through a lot
A few moves
More than a few lovers
The Alice in Wonderland decal has worn off and the seafoam enamel is cracked-- a mosaic of all the times I didn't care enough to hand wash it
The handle fell off once, I wanted to practice the Kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken things with liquid gold
But I'm a college student, so glittery modge podge worked just fine
In many ways I am this cup
Used, well loved
Slightly broken, held together with glitter and good intentions
I don't mind the cracks
In the cup or in me
Cracks show that you are strong, can handle whatever is thrown at you, heartbreak or linoleum
They also allow light in
To brighten when darkness is all you can seem to find
As I reach the last sips of my coffee the sun is well up
My cats are hungry and I'm running late
Some days it's worth tardiness to reconnect to a part of you you thought was lost
Today is one of those days
O why, O why, O why was I born in this non-laternlit world?
O why, O why, O why was I born in this non-torchlit world.
And try, and try, and try I do, to fulfill myself, all others, too!
And try, and try, and try I do, to remind myself, all others, too:
That it is not man's devices that light the darkness,
but the sun's brightness…
Crumpled paper damp with ink,
Immortal words washed away in the running stream.
The paper breathes longer than I,
whats behind longer still,
for the same worries I carry
are etched in the walls of Pharaoh's grave.
When the candle of life is by saliva-wet
Sighs resound and glances cast at the
vacant seat my voice used to occupy.
The present man soon dances for the prying eye of
A picture printed on the page in many days,
full of laughing smiles and vacant gaze of youth gone
The Retrospect looks closely, trailing fingers softly
over the black white rendition.
An all too human fear creeps to mind,
and he quickly turns the page.
it like that,
made to decide at last,
when it was
dark, coagulated blood,
never before seen.
Then, fresh blood
started to ooze
as if reluctant
to close the wound,
unable to forget
emotions that are
made to sleep
Heavy-hearted though warm I feel
The skies are high,painted in teal
I am weak, Tyro with spirits at peak
Time has come to leave the nest
Steal the sights...fly high my best!
Flap the wings,may the mood swings
Light up...cheer up...be alive!
Wind may oppose ,its my first flight.
Face the thunders..don't let it rain
Do hold the clouds till energy drains.
My wings are heavy, want a break
Perch of memories, I may fall prey
A moment to live,rest I don't care
Now I am tired,and I am sane
Soon I will fly my home again.
How alike--both born in Bergen County
among mansions and stone-lined yards,
but my childhood had been framed with lace,
yours a light bulb broken before tasting electricity.
My mother called me your “moral compass.”
My sister said I kept you from disappearing--
as if you were born from leftover ashes
smearing the stone hearth black
as the nights we’d lie awake and you’d
asked me what color to repaint your bedroom
and how to talk to that boy from your class.
You insisted I spend every night at your house.
Sometimes, we’d race our fourwheelers wild,
I always lost, far behind you--and further still
when you found that skin-and-bone crowd with
*****-stained clothes, their teeth and eyes
yellow as their cigarette-tarred fingertips
and when they stumbled near, I smelled
breath foul as the stench of a mouse
dead in my car’s engine--slowly burning out.