"eavesdropping" poems
porch talk, simmering in a Bud light sauce
everyone chair-rocking, even the boxer dog,
in his self-propelled 360 degree swiveling chair
eavesdropping and spy eyeballing the farm for
strangers and any creatures as of yet, unsmelled
get done with weather, the crops,
the neighbors,
the weird, and the truly neighborly,
grandkids escapades, hopes and desires, comparative literature and regional dialects and philosophical dialecticals tickling,
bs’ing and tall tale telling, breathing the windy geography of the air over the land that dictates the how we live,
open another Bud for the buds,
did I forget to mention
farm equipment?
skirt politics cause nobody wants any
nothing-to-be-done-damn-aggravation,
leaves nothing mo’ to ramble on about ‘cept the
absent women
no worries all above board no secrets uncouthed,
but the mood softens as the pale daylight wisps come rarer
as now
nearer to nine pm, obvious saved the best for last,
a very manly-way of ordering things,
big silent pauses in the converso conversation,
guy-sighs many,
as the last essay of the day is being jointly authored,
denotating the generalized listings of
how they drive us crazy,
listing the repetition of ever changing instructions,
which doesn't recognize bi-coastal mannerisms, non-differentiating
just humanism-isms
and the peculiarities of each (a list kept)
in a compare and contrast,
an end of the day summation,
and the boasting-outbesting,
of each of their
specialisms
which is sadly now forgotten and which haven’t been
brain-recorded so cannot be disclosed
other than it’s now ten
and all that’s left is
to sleep, perchance, to dream,
of private things
and bigger and better
John Deere tractors
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 2:13 PM UTC
I remember towards the end of my parents marriage
Their arguing was inescapable
I tried to drown it out, but the screaming was too loud
And the temptation of eavesdropping was too much
I should have turned my music up
I wish the things I heard could become unheard
My heart ached for both of them
Because I'm sure they were just trying to figure out what went wrong and when
And I'm not really sure how people go from lovers to strangers
Because at one point they meant the world to each other
But suddenly it seemed they were living in two different worlds
And I wonder if they were ever happy together
Or if they were just putting on a show
I want to believe they were once were in love, most of me believes it
I guess I'd like to think my existence is from a place of love and not bitter resentment
I swear there was a time when they looked at each other like they shared some secret
And smiled at each other with knowing smiles
Now when they see one another their eyes are just filled with contempt
And there's no trace of a smile on their strained lips
Which leaves me to question
How does someone you know become someone you knew?
How does someone who was your present, your future, so quickly become your past?
How does someone who was your world become a memory fading out of existence?
How does someone you love become someone you loved?
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 4:09 PM UTC
It’s so easy to feel so small
I’m on a bus, the last one that runs on a Wednesday night,
Sketching a tired face
Bags under the eyes, made of black ink
I’m eavesdropping on a conversation,
(Does it count as eavesdropping when
There are only two people speaking in an otherwise
Silent bus?)
My heart’s been having an existential crisis,
And my stomach and chest
Empty
Yet heavy
Someone’s hands are holding my insides
And squeezing them in a fist
It is exhausting
It is lonely
In my right ear is this beautiful song
Violin and cello and
A raw passion that reminds me
That it’s okay
To be human, and to be scared shitless
I’m still listening, partly
But not really
It’s late
I want to sleep
Busses are full of zombies-
Phone, earphone, unsmiling zombies
And despite the
Tired sketch on my lap
I’m one, too
The conversation slows
I smile
I turn and I recognize the face in front of me
I’m told that this person, vaguely familiar face, whose conversation
I’ve been eavesdropping on remembers one of my poems
About stars
And the line is on his wall
A line from a poem that I wrote
About stars
Is on someone’s wall
Even better than when Chad Oliver told me I was
Quite attractive junior year of high school,
And I remember writing that poem
And I feel a little less useless
I want to cry
My body hasn’t known what to do with itself lately
You see I exhausted myself in love
And now that it’s gone
I feel useless
My heart pulls towards mediocre sketches
First sips of coffee in the morning,
Listening to the violin
It doesn’t know what else to feel for
It’s been left in this dark room
Grasping for a table,
**** even a stepstool,
Heartbreak is exhausting
Because it’s not just the heart
And it doesn’t really break
It just has to re-learn how to feel
But I get off the bus
And the night is warm,
The moon is
Beautiful,
This white-hot luminescence
Burning through the silhouettes of trees,
So bright the sky is still blue 6 hours after sundown.
I open my palms up to her
I see the stars
I open my palms up to them
They guide me home
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
if ears had lips
mine would gladly tell you all the things
they can and cannot comprehend
they would explain the difference
between hearing and understanding;
just because they hear a sound
doesn’t mean they know what it is
or where it’s coming from
just because they hear a voice
doesn’t mean they discern words
they would ask you to please speak louder
and tell you that even though volume is their friend
if you take a jumble and turn up the juice
sometimes it becomes clearer
other times it’s just a loud jumble
they might tell you that writing things down saves time
or that texting works better than voicemail
they would tell you how much they miss
the rain’s incessant song
the wind’s sweeping whistle
a dropped pin’s pinging ping
earthy crashing blue green wave sounds
a lover’s soft whisper
eavesdropping’s noseyness
distance’s subtle sounds
footsteps’ proximity
a fire’s warm red orange crackle
freeway traffic’s rushing background noise
a phone call’s lively conversation
a tv show’s clever, non-closed-captioned script
a radio’s soulful catchy lyrics
live performance’s vibrant voice
the timbre of each note in a chord
as I strummed my guitar
they would tell you
how the ringing tones inside my head
compete with your words
they would speak of their frustration and indignation
when you ignorantly accuse them of selective hearing
they would apologize for asking you to repeat
and laugh with you at my disability
they would thank you for dealing with me anyway
they would smile in appreciation
for your exaggerated syll•a•bi•ca•tion
if ears could see
mine would overlook your rolling eyes
and exasperated sighs and expressions
they know it’s not your fault that they don’t work good
and hope you know it’s not their fault either
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 3:21 PM UTC
Sand burns red, sunlight hits the little
waves, dappled Connemara coat.
Berries form. Sweet orbs,
sweet life, Spring ticks over.
Time's a running clock, silent
and unnoticed. May dances in
on a breeze. No ribbons, no pole.
The dandelions roar in the field,
in the garden, daisies blush
and whisper to the trees
the hawthorn blushes too,
what giggling conversation
takes place on the seashore?
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
If Thoughts Were Audible,
Would you try to catch & make
Every fluttering thought your Bible,
In your craving
To come face to face
With that one thought
Which would have the answer
To what is the question,
That has gnawed at you since birth.
What if you bumped against
Hitherto infrasonic tremors
Of a morbid sigh or curse,
While hoping to tune into
A blessing or yearning,
Would you consider yourself
The ****** of the Panopticon
Or a prisoner of it?
Would the nail-biting curiosity
Of groping the trail
Of fragmented thoughts
From all (how many?) corners
Make you lose your own 'stream of consciousness',
as they would call it?
Deaf now to your own mental utterances
Would you (n)ever speak again?
[Since,
Your eavesdropping mind
Would already know
What the other has to say
As would he, about your thoughts
Before either uttered the first syllable.]
Or,
Would you start thinking
About what to think first
And what order to place those thoughts in, next,
So you could fool your mental trespasser,
Sending him off to a parallel trail of thoughts?
But of course he would be able to
Hear through your strategy
As he would also know
Of that moment
When you decided to
Guard your own thoughts.
But the question is,
Do you have any left, now?
A numb stare is reflected
In your mental neighbour's eyes
As you both confront
The fact that
*Deaf people don't have
Songs stuck in their head.*
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
I lie strategically in place
Innocent framework fused
With royal carapace
Frail and allknowing fingers clenched and intertwined,
Mimicking the honest silver circuit in the night sky
As candid as the shore
Each slumbered and delicate breath
Vitally delivered from those sublime lips
Both damp and potent
I get a candied wind of
An accidental consolation
To my crippling worry
Sorrowful, I am, my love
For eavesdropping, but
My reveries are your keepsakes
And I,
Watching you sleep, carefully
In A placid coma, caging waves of covenants
And exhaling tokens of a life once dreamt of
I envisage the unvarnished truth,
your marrow as my sustentation,
Your veins, My lifeline
Where each filament of platinum and sorrel remain entangled and sprawled in forever, impeccably
And how drawn out and vexing
My intervals of lingering for you
Have been
And then you leak a sigh in a dream
And exhale a veil of whispers
Directly to my ribcage
And I simper, cradling you tighter
So you can breathe my craving,
My contented tribute
To my one veritable sentiment.
And I seal it all in the midst,
Of a drifted and slumbered and deathless
Kiss.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 7:24 PM UTC
There was a Rock band playing hard but I didn’t hear them
flashes of lights in the screaming crowd but I couldn’t see them
only your face, drenched in beauty beaming in the middle
pulled your curls over your right ear so I could talk to your dimples..
...then I stood there in your eye’s gaze, swirling in a maze amazed
in wonderland, minus a white rabbit and a white man in a top hat
to get back to the land of the sane, to hear my name in your voice
was insane, no matter how many drinks we already had.
Bohemian eyes, green lights, curly black hair with shades of brown
condensing in your forest sight, setting fire to the entire Amazon
hanging on to the ring that barely bitterly bites your bottom lip,
trying to squeeze that melancholic bohemian smile in-between.
Ripped jeans at the knees, cinnamon skin, low-cut blouse
rockin’ to the guitar’s string, to string me along a flower child
promised to write you a poem while in my mind you were still fresh
even if I didn’t kissed your lips, with my skin I touched your breath.
Then we talked about things while the eavesdropping moon was near
you had a man, it was clear, but that went in and out the other ear
maybe I’ll never see you again, so I’ll take that with a shot of sorrow
because it was no longer yesterday bohemian girl, it was tomorrow.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 9:30 PM UTC
You’d never guess
By eavesdropping
To the vapid colloquialisms
Of your neighbors, your co-workers
That 5 open sores fester upon our mother’s face,
5 gyres,
(even the word is disgusting),
of floating plastic,
tangle and strangle the warm wombs of our seas,
stretch out at the horizons like blankets of melanoma.
Livid and neon infection
Drips, seeps, spreads from Fukushima,
Genociding the Pacific—3,000 nautical miles
Devoid of breath or heartbeat,
Save a lonely whale with tumors
Full of hot dog coupons and carpet cleaning flyers.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
Parsimony Antipathy or Prudent Hostility
Locked-up Cuspid Of the One Celled Organism
As the Augury tends to its Auspices oddities
One Weak Ordeal and your reward will be handsome
Ceteris paribus when Ockham’s blade gets dull
Get a loan from your Karma or come back as amoebae
Hearts won’t be practical until they’re unbreakable.
But if you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.
Sometime this week I’ll hang from the gallows
Every drip of the tallow brings closer the end
But I’ve got this imp secured in this bottle
And you can have him for a price less than a penny
Yeah, I’ve got a genie who’ll grant all your wishes
Just pay for this bottle and your family gets fed
But act fast, for soon I **** my last twitches
By this time tomorrow I could very well be dead
Salivating tadpoles for Hegemony crickets
All imprisoned here with this repressionist peasant
By a singular stroke into Jove’s black booklet
Lucidly errant, who hasn’t been flippant?
Clever Arachne, my love, oh thou immodest spider
All I ever wanted, she picked a fine time to leave us
My days squandered eavesdropping Apocalypse riders
But if you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.
Sometime this week I’ll hang from the gallows
Every drip of the tallow brings closer the end
But I’ve got this imp secured in this bottle
And you can have him for a price less than a penny
Yeah, I’ve got a genie who’ll grant all your wishes
Just pay for this bottle and your family gets fed
But act fast, for soon I **** my last twitches
By this time tomorrow I could very well be dead
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 11:29 AM UTC
Eavesdropping
A good man is hard to find
Said my Nana,
That was the day I saw tears in my nana’s eyes
As she nervously stuff her monthly tithe in the envelope
And headed out to church that Sunday morning
Before, shouting at my granddad
I guess she was mad as hell at the old fool
That was the day I found out that my hero my grandpa
Was having an affair with the widower Estelline Beckley
“Ellie you’re the only woman for me said my Granddad”
However, my Nana wasn’t haven’t any of that
So she slammed the door on Grand dad
I remember being scare, and confused,
About this family feud
So, I hid under the table, and prayed to God
for the scream and shouting to be over
For several weeks all my Nana did was prayed
And all Granddad done was to burnt her pots and pans
Boiling water and making coffee.
Nana told the neighbors, that those harlot with a trail
For a rear end,
can cause a man to climbed, a mountain without his proper gears
That statement still baffles me until this day.
Until many years later when I met my mother’s sister
here in New York the spit and image of my mother.
But had the very spirit and expression of my Granddad
so much for eave dropping and family affair
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 10:25 AM UTC
My Doppelganger holds secret negotiations with my Avatar.
Slicing up the available territory by flipping a coin. Apparently,
I can see a me for myself if I happen to be in Somalia next Monday.
But that’s the Avator talking. Doppelganger is betting on Seattle.
I am eavesdropping, sitting around in my underwear. They
think I am unaware because I can’t see them, but they are
impossible without me.
Goethe, Shelley and John Donne are in the next apartment
huddled over some broken poems each had written on
the mirrors. No mistakes were made. No reflections.
They get to see themselves out of the corner of one eye,
for up to nine seconds which is like a lifetime to remember.
Yet the acrid smell of Neitzsche emanates from dark corners.
Sturm und Drang be ****** Neitzsche is convinced
no one has ever looked like him, but he does suggest
a parallel universe.
Abe Lincoln, a latecomer and unlikely participant, picks up a few pointers.
He knows full well that what he saw was not a reflection. And he rode that train
all the way from Pittsburg. All those windows...
And, yes, KA, the spirit double, the Egyptian Goddess, goes in **** as the
Greek Princess and shows up as Helen to tease Paris of Troy.
How can you not believe that? For Goddess sake, she helped end the Trojan War.
I have a lot of time on my hands. I don’t get out much.
Ava and Dopp came by just to let me know I’m still around.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC
When did loneliness in a crowded room become a goal?
Eavesdropping on inspiration; indolence.
Like my art, pockets of brilliance are found
in the wreckage of a market town
with nothing left to sell. All those discordant
ideals of escape and of nothingness.
Still waiting for that ***** of light
which must always break through.
Isolation becomes a component of personality;
a need for space in overpopulated surroundings.
Like my art, pockets of living
congregate in moments torn from the clock face,
in lines of laughter and grief; the five o'clock champagne.
All that revel in maladjustment,
all who laugh at death,
those who had given up on The Lie.
When did my life reduce to words and symbols;
stealing poetry from the street-preacher's leaflets?
Like my art, pockets of reason
form amongst the senselessness of meaning;
how love sits different on every tongue,
how wine hits sweetly only in the need to run.
I have grown tired of running away,
this stalwart need for acceptance.
A want for a panic room,
a need to fall to pieces, undisturbed.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 12:15 PM UTC
We spy on each other
Whether for Work
Or Pleasure
We think Privacy
Exists
But it doesnt
We all eavesdrop
on each other.
Doesn't this mean
We live in a big brother society?
Sep 16, 2010
Sep 16, 2010 at 8:37 PM UTC
.
1. Big Brother
Big Brother's protecting his mice
with a secret eavesdropping device.
If you hang up the phone
he'll just send in a drone
when a warrant won't really suffice.
2. Neutrality
The internet's meant to be free,
yes for all, such as you, such as me.
But now there's some doubt -
will it lose all its clout
with the death of neutrality's spree?
3. Privacy
'twas surely our forefather's dread
all our emails would someday be read.
Now that push comes to shove
by the powers above,
private thoughts must now stay in our head.
4. Guantanamo
Guantanamo bay's a resort
where the fishing's a fabulous sport -
with your back on a board
tepid water is poured
spawning tales for a kangaroo court.
5. Banks
To bountiful bailouts give thanks
for there's nothing much richer than banks -
making money galore
taking homes from the poor
while they're managing mortgaging pranks.
6. Health
If you live in the States don't get sick
(lest a cut of the upper class clique).
Whether injured or ill
all they'll give you's a pill -
if you're lucky you'll surely die quick.
7. Economy
Our economy's doing just fine
lying dead with a slug in the spine.
So come follow the call
where there's money for all
and pure profit's the bottom-most line.
8. Safety
Vigilantes and cops are wide spread -
as for justice… not even a shred.
The avengers of right
score when stalking the night
so beware of a cap in the head.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
So often I find myself
Engrossed in conversations
I am not a part of
When I am alone
On the bus
At school
In any shop
I hear interesting snippets
Of stories
Or annoying gossip
Sometimes I will
Count how many times
They say like
One girl
Said it 37 times
In six minutes
I laugh at peoples jokes
Or the stupidity of their statements
To amuse myself
And pass time
I know you do too
Because we hear something hilarious
Or weird
Or something we wish we hadn't
And we make eye contact
And laugh
At the weird things you hear
While eavesdropping
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
I heard the flutter of a thousand feathers above me,
black birds convened at tomorrow’s end
I saw a ****** of crows encircling the sky
rushing downward into a vortex
Clattering straight for my skull
aiming for divvy morsels that fell off my body.
There’s not much left of me,
their blunt bills perforated most of my skin
Unveiling the skeleton inside this closet,
Unraveling the secrets this mouth can’t
In hoping to shut my heavy eyes to rest
and dig me a bed six feet under
so I can tumble to eternal slumber.
The tears running down my eyes diluted
the colors of my blood stained hands
as I wipe them away
Raindrops, tears, and blood
doesn’t differ much from each other
For they’re all just liquid substances that symbolizes pain.
I sight these black birds
sitting by the branches of a dead oak tree,
their claws clenched against the aged wood
Bathing in the ashes that fell like snow.
But I’m just lying perfectly still,
my back flat on solid ground
Facing the bleak sun
remaining numb and frozen
This is how I picture death
like sketching a mausoleum.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 9:39 AM UTC
in line at the bookstore
overhearing three suicides.
occupied,
endless vacuums
and no translation ....
- -
what poet has nothing to say?
eavesdropping as balm
for loneliness -
people aren’t
making it.
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 8:47 PM UTC
I remember vividly,
The days of my tender immaturity,
That complemented an air of naivety I had.
But now I have learnt,
How to maintain a reticent manner,
An agreeable countenance,
And an unceasing anesthesia.
I have tamed my heart not to beat fast at the sight of you,
But it still needs practice.
It needs practice because it has never known how to face its fears calmly.
So, it remains hidden right here in my chest,
Eavesdropping on you.
I have taught the sinews of my wrinkled lips to smile freely.
I have taught them to smile freely because sorrow chokes me.
Sorrow chokes me because I cannot resist the thoughts of your indifference,
Running wildly down the nerves into each sombre inch of my skin,
And every inch of my skin mutilating itself,
Tattooing your name,
Slowly.
Silently.
'Painfully'.
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 2:11 PM UTC
The elves congregated
In the back room of the shop,
Muttering amongst themselves
And chattering on nonstop.
One elf stood on a table
And scanned the angry crowd.
He raised his hand to shush
The others from getting too loud.
"Fellow elves, be quiet.
We have work to do;
This isn't just a trivial
Elven ballyhoo.
"Santa's expectations
Have risen exceedingly.
He takes no action when
I ask him pleadingly
"For a raise in pay
And better working conditions.
He only chortles and laughs
And speaks of old traditions."
An elf spoke up from the group:
"The reindeer have it made.
We work our butts off;
But see how little we're paid.
"Why they earn so much
Isn't really clear
When they only work
ONE night of the year!
"Platitudes and promises
Do nothing to assuage
Angry workers. Santa
Must increase our wage!"
"Yes," chimed in another.
"Not keeping up with inflation,
Our pay keeps us living
In serious deprivation.
"Our benefits also haven't
Kept up with the times.
They are slashed while
The cost of insurance climbs.
"I know we've a lot to do,
And I think we're pretty meticulous,
But the hours we're forced to work…
I mean…this is ridiculous!
"And what about part-time elves
Who have little enjoyment
Working for no benefits?
You call that employment?"
Disgruntled, all the workers
Considered taking action
And wondered what to do
To get some satisfaction.
Another elf said, "Santa's
Heavy demands are an onus.
And we elves don't even
Get a Christmas bonus!
"Frankly, it takes every
Ounce of faith I can muster
To think that dear ol' Santa's
Not a union buster!
"Furthermore, there's something
That I've got to say:
We all have to strive
For equality of pay."
"Yay!" the elves shouted
And in unison chanted:
"Equal pay: Yes!
Take nothing for granted!"
The work discussion lingered
Well into the night.
They knew that gaining ground
Would require a fight.
(In thinking about life,
Struggles, work, and fairness,
It doesn't hurt anyone
To have some elf-awareness.)
Eavesdropping here,
You've seen for yourself
That life's not always peachy--
Even for an elf.
Let's just hope that Santa
Doesn't be a ****
And save a few bucks next year
By outsourcing the work.
- by Bob B
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 5:40 PM UTC
loneliness
is when you have watched your favorite show
so many times
that you, as well as your family,
know the complicated theme song
and everybody sings along every night
as you sit down for dinner in front of the TV
and then you watch it at midnight
when no one's awake
and you let it play without singing
love
is eavesdropping on a sister and brother
walking behind you,
the sister as high as a kite
and the younger brother wearing a leather jacket
as he holds her hand to lead her through a forest,
and you realize they love each other
more deeply than you could ever understand
and they always have
and always will
happiness
is
healthy babies being born,
healthy soldiers coming home
sadness
is
a newlywed
dying
on her honeymoon
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
so kindled in sear summer July,
Upheaval churning in my most stoic feeling frazzled, I am,
Thank GOD for Good Riddance- putting on a thinking cap
And my Good Instincts prevails..
Brooding over and praying in silence-
PEACE and Faith too ; sustained my intertwined...
guts good 'ole meshed up toiled my life.
Like a web-gathering digging out into knitted vine..
Gotta dance w/ grace even if someone ogling..
actin' out like zilch..
out there mesmerizing.
Give it all out for sake o' Inamorata
And fervor like ne'er be in paroxysm, a day or two ..
Rhyme with the melody o' songs
And Sing it all out on top o' my lungs
like there's no one's eavesdropping
Amusingly enough as I wantonly be wanted
And feel hurting no more,
Sleeping in minty pillows, sobbing no more...
At the time, eventide dusk comes,
That Beauty; rests indeed, bellows
Live and let live like it's a bed o' heavenly velvety Roses in this cauldron earth!.ensnared my thoughts together oftentimes,
Through waylay conflicts
So akin to as DRAMA Momma!
That another can tote to my table.
Getting' along just fine witn MYself..
thus restore my sense of panoramic mindset; - my BLESSINGS- scrutiny on my studies and my cherub babes who cares as whippersnapper!
Thou Loves me more than
of enormous superficial stuffs-
things that won't last-
I'm in solitude for soul searching'.
I am of thy belief that
everyone needs time...
To just Be! @ peace with just MYself!
J
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 11:38 AM UTC
He asked her how many
Breaks she needed
From work, possibly
(she must have quit)
Or school, maybe
(no plans, apparently)
How about him?
She answered
It was easy for him
With his job
(a banker)
With his security
(pension plans)
To preach prudence
He continued his campaign
Against letting go
She said for freedom
(from a dead end job)
He argued for stupidity
(no plan it seemed)
And no backup
She fought him
In self defense
Fenced his words
And stripped their relationship
Exposed all
Their personal values
Until they left
The open compartment train
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 5:03 AM UTC
It's propped against the wall,
anxiously awaiting to be played
sometimes it takes week
but often just a day
When she takes it in her hands
and begins to tune it up
it wakes up from its sleep
feeling the comfort of her touch
As she starts to strum along
the flowing melody is found
her voice begins to rise
my heart smiles at the sound
Eavesdropping just to hear her
because she doesn't understand
how I'm overwhelmed with joy
and that I'm her biggest fan
It's not the way she plays
or how beautiful she sings
it's the humbleness she shows
and the serenity it brings
To have that kind of passion
without needing to be praised
my daughter's gift sent from above
gratefully received in many ways
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC
At times, I just watch people
Like now - I see a pregnant woman
I think, what she must be thinking
Maybe - ' whether it's a boy or a girl'.
Crossing the Christmas Tree
I see an old man talking to his wife
In so many years of togetherness -
he still finds her benign.
As I sip my red velvet latte
My eyes fall on a couple
Both are sharing the same table -
yet conversing through their mobiles.
Eavesdropping upon the conversation
A daughter tells to her father
The best new year gift for her -
if he stops smoking forever!
I stop looking around for a while
And I close my eyes to realise
There is a world inside me -
that the adversity just hypnotized!
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 6:18 AM UTC