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Tanhayi say rishtay purana hai hamara
Meray buray waqt may bhi yehi banti hai mera sahara
Kabhi mujhay dhokha nahi deti
Hamesha saath nibhati hai
Meray har dard ko samajhti hai
Din ki shuruwaat uus say hoti hai
Raatko uski aagosh may khudko saup deta hoon
Hamara ishq ab apni bulandi par hai
Bohot jald hamara nikah hoga
(Hindi and Urdu)

English Translation

My relationship with loneliness goes a long way back
It's my only support during my times of distress
It never betrays me
Always faithfully supports and maintains our relationship
It understands every bit of pain that I feel
My day begins with her
And at night I surrender and submit myself to her embrace
Our love is now at its peak
Very soon we'll get married
That first night sky in the high desert
was fully unexpected, with no moon yet
the lighted canopy of brilliant heavenly
sparkling bodies appeared so dense and
near that at first view I felt perhaps I must
duck down so as to not bump my head
into a star or two.

City and town skies are muted by city lights,
only a few stars visible even on a clear night.
High Desert skies are so densely packed it
takes your breath away, you can sit for hours
with your mouth agape in contemplative
wonderment, mesmerized by the sheer vast
splendor of the heavens dense blanket of
shimmering lights out into infinity and beyond.
No telescope required.
To say those lighted heavens made me
feel very small is an understatement.
Oregon's Southeastern Steens Mountain
High Desert, 5000 feet above sea level is
one of the most remote and year-round
darkest skies in North America. 65 miles
from even the nearest small country town.
Hundreds of miles from any city lights.
Great for star gazing! That first view is
indelibly etched upon my vision's memory
all these many years later, and every year
since I try to return. The place pulls me back
like a magnet.
 Oct 2021 vienna bombardieri
HOPE
Once upon a time
She found a companion
Who permitted her to sail
Within the pool of his heart,
Became the beats on his lips
Forever and a lifetime
Yet he made her parade
On fractured glasses
As she pick the share of her scars
-

four hours into a slow night with little
else to do but sip coffee. images through
the window wound me with new ways
to feel older, draping me out with all the

ribbons from New Year's past which got
ripped from those babies who later grew
up to become waiters and waitresses—

from what i can make out, some kid is
busting a table across the street wearing
a button-down shirt with a black tie,

he will likely work a couple more hours
and head out some place wearing the
reverse of this with an abundance
of youth to flaunt for all those
girls who actively seek

something
                       Better–

Ohhh !
He is looking
this way now !!!
i think..


somehow i feel this brushing of
unfamiliar shoulders as our worlds
of witnessing empties between these
panes of our circumstance, my ambered
line of sight cross–ray'd  with the beams
of his hot-white glare–

i watch dimly as he smiles at that
young lady with the red umbrella
crossing the street between us..


Yeah..

a few blinks later he will disappear
behind a partition and i will then
turn my attention inwards,

day-dreaming away the remainder
of my shift about hopeful
exchanges for

Something–
                        better...


s jones
2021


.
originally written  
in 2008
 Oct 2021 vienna bombardieri
ryn
I remember this day…

Looking out the window,
feeling the stray droplets;
Tasting the scent of moisture
as the chill of the soft breeze
laces the deep breaths I take…

As I once did…

I remember this day…
To be one that I’ve lived before.
It was a blurry reflection I saw in the clouds,
it was clear in the sky and as if I was facing my own body —
my legs can barely walk, my hands were trembling
and I can only open my mouth to breathe.

Though there are birds who prey on me, my wings have kept me on guard
and I stood still, alone, with my legs broken
and of little faith.

The world bestowed upon me was ruthless for someone as dreamy and a little in love as me —
I wish that sometimes I can be as hard as a rock,
so the world can see how cruel I am to her
and give me something that I can call a spark of joy.

I have beheaded myself from having to only daydream about falling in love, I have disconnected the veins flowing around my heart —
so it won't feel anything, but even the day sets down and night comes up,
I would still be in love and be of little faith, that I, part of a million particles living in on this earth — can still be held by a man whom I hold on so dearly.

Maybe if I would be less cruel to myself and nice to hard rocks, he will find me and I can walk again.
Maybe my heart that was made of soft cotton easy to be pulled by can be colorful like the blue sky,
and my face can mirror back the clouds' reflection —
and my hands can touch the end fur of the trees dancing when they see me in love wholly and less ruthless.

Maybe if I say maybe now, I can be held like I am a precious gem in his eyes and the birds won't be my enemies anymore,
they will sing wedding bells' songs and I'd smile in regards,
I will strum my harp and the only thing I can get by at the end of the day was his smile,
and that will build my little faith, and I will feel the love again, the once daydreamer, has now fulfilled her reality.

And I am back again in writing these, for myself while I continue to work and I sit here — in front of my desktop waiting for my reveries to come to life.
Writing from the perspective of Ruth.
Been a while since I last posted. Hope everyone is doing okay.
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