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Posts Tagged ‘angel’

Search me, oh my spirit

at the riptide on my blue veins.

I am at the end of the line

in the deep ocean I lay.

I let the undercurrent shake

my foundations of faith

moored and hidden

a wreckage-

 

beneath the sea weeds

and coral cloisters

beached with visions.

Murkier as mud clouds,

adrift in liquid abyss

disturbed my soul. I

 

an abandoned cast-away.

The once mighty crusader

sailed the troubled waters

has now dropped the anchors.

 

Weighed down, crashed,

beaten and ravaged.

I had forgotten the buoy

afloat in its hope. Angel

caught in the maelstrom

shroud in its mystery

just like a prayer.

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His past smells of a ditch

drying up its putrid stink

as stale as the street air.

It belongs to a smoggy neighborhood.

In the memory of tattered rags

flapping like flags on the clothesline.

As if dreams can be scavenged

out of the hilly mounds

of garbage, dumping its gifts

of someone else’s trash turning

into someone else’s fortune.

 

No one cared about armpits

getting wet and sour for hours,

as long as the bad odors

can promise him little money

to buy fish sauce for rice.

Sniffing heaven on earth-

little angel never complaining

about life, about the linger-

of those occasional whiffs

from the broken sewer.

Nor the rising sting of steam

emanating from his broken skin

pierced by the cruel sun.

 

Nor inhaling the dry cough of cars

and buses farted poison.

The way he exhaled yesterday

walking on a pavement slow,

feeling the throbbing locomotion

churn on his empty stomach.

A street urchin squeezing the crowd

like a fly hopping on a hope

above the grease and grime

that smeared a childhood.

 

He won’t cover the past

with today’s perfume

nor sanitize its images

in suds of detergent.

He’s not ashamed

of the scent of his past-

the smell of poverty

that swarmed his innocence

and have walked

the muddy line across

the nook and cranny

of his every bones.

He survived them all.

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When all the lights have faded.

When all the sounds have died.

A choice have been made between a mother

and the life that struggles in her womb.

Tonight will be the darkest hour.

 

And her whisper became tiny wisps

of breath unheard. The elusive spark

of love by the palm of her hand.

Searches for a missing pulse

beating to the sinews of her flesh.

  

But fate snatches the dream away

like thousand  daggers piercing

into her wounded soul. It became

the bitter part of the past she cannot

forget. A stain of pain that won’t go away.

 

When once a beautiful journey cut short

of a distance into her fragile memory.

The silent tears through all the years,

remembering a child without a name.

Stranger to a mother’s touch.

 

Not a trace of an angel’s smile.

Not even happiness lulling the little one

to sleep in her arms. She dreams,

she hopes of becoming a mother

embracing her child. Unborn.

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You lied to me about baptism. The intoxication

and its sinful concoction sweating from some bottles

whose name sounds like a saint I worshipped

night after night. 

 

I gulped down gallons like the torrential rains outside.

Submerged in the bubble of nameless strangers

in the watering hole. Kindred souls searching

for some kind of salvation.

 

The cloud of smoke, its humid and hazy steam blurred

my visions into hallucinations. Of angels and demons

dancing in revelry. The dirt and grime camouflaging

the filth of the mundane.

 

The surging numbness of a hundred knives dripping down

my throat. Felt like hell on earth, whose flame creeping

a river of fire. Dissecting, invading, lacerating my innards

into a violent storm.

 

A deluge I have cried and my salty tears breaching

these floodgates of the dam. I swam away from this murky tide,

its rampaging waters, swelling a flood into my bloodstream.

Drowned in a landslide.

 

This is not the heaven you promised. You lied.

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As I would keep my path

clear

of grass growths.

I will find a way

leaving a trail.

 

And watch

the sky touching earth.

The feathered wings

of my angel

on the horizon.

 

I hope.

I would keep my footsteps

slow.

To observe

some familiar things.

 

I used to see

in my many quiet mornings

in the clearing.

 

I would follow

the sun beams.

Over the veil

of the fog.

 

As it lingers

above the field

of windflowers.

 

I will gather some fallen twigs.

Some fallen leaves.

In a jar.  Keeping moments

 

for potpourri. I am breathing in-

my home in the prairie.

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Crisp sounds of the crushing snow

chills sensation to the eager toes.

with ice castles and the snowman

lovingly smile at this skiing yard.

 

Pieces of white cloud softly fall

Like angel’s hair in a divine show

Frost filled in the ivory horizon

A postcard captured joy of seasons.

 

Sweet embrace of the midnight sun,

Misty air swirls in magical swarms

Like a tapestry the ice lovingly drapes

This once nostalgic landscape.

 

The icicles hang on the limpid branch

Where its palms canopied phalanx

Of towering giants among the forest

freezing its once watery flesh.

                    

Greenery lost in this wintry shade

bathed  in milky whitened frail

fingers shimmering, glittering

showering dust of creamy dreams.

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