I can hear you. You whisper to me.
Like a midnight vesper with your voice
cloaked in darkness, aching to be seen.
You are intangible. I reach and yearn
but you are lost.

I imagine you sometimes in the eyes
of the Lladro figure on my bookcase
the last thing you left to me
because no one else ever loved it the way you did.

She still feeds her swans, you know
that Lladro with her bright gaze
and tiny archaic smile.
She reminds me of you.

Sometimes I wonder if you’re there
and that’s why I hear your little voice
or smell your sweet perfume,
the twirl of her porcelain umbrella
wafting it through my bedroom’s stagnant air.

This poem was originally written at the end of 2024 after many epiphanies were had.

Truth be told I thought my heart was cold,
I had feared that I had lost the feeling of being bold,
With no sparks being brought into the fold,
I always knew that I did not fit into any mould,
Life also told me that I was baggage that had to be put into the hold.

I lift heavy weights but have been unable to remove this pressure from my shoulders,
Feeling like Atlas holding up the earth like an immense boulder,
Filled with doubt like Arjuna before battles started in the Mahabharata,
While wanting to seek revenge like Amba.

My heart was once broken, and certainly in pieces,
But it is a Lladro sculpture mended through kintsugi,
I can now recognise that its beauty never ceases,
With every crack and fracture, a river of gold, platinum and bronze seals and connects previously disjointed niches.

Anger has been replaced by joy and love,
A deep sense of connection with those who are chosen family,
Whose presence in my life has made life a lot less tough,
For who I can’t bluff with my brand of nonsensical stuff.

The yearning will never end or stop,
But recognising that life is short and it is not made for a swap,
It is truly a blessing, and don’t quote me on this, but for once doesn’t feel like a chop.