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Posts Tagged ‘butterfly’

I would like to remember

for the sake of remembrance

without fear of talking on corners

where echoes reverberate

within these four white walls.

 

I would like to visit a place

that is only half-remembered

where the streets are fading

against the foggy morning light.

 

Have they forgotten

or just being forgetful?

Frozen fingers of tree branches

on a bleak Friday morning.

Wisps of emotion numbed

by the chilly winds,

the pores of my skin

have forgotten to breathe.

 

The chances of longing

for somebody or someone

whom you have felt the time

when the blood on your veins

boil and burst with life. Inside

of you. That the world is

still a beautiful place, after all.

 

Just for this moment of expectation.

This soft prison cell will balm my soul

who wants to break out as a man

free like a butterfly

in its resplendent colors.

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My thoughts are as directionless

as the moths seeking for warmth.

The fire within crackles

sending cinders to my realm.

My mantra of calm are as restless

as the grasshopper hopping

to some isolated and jotted

islands of images, dark-

that painterly abstraction.

Jarring and savage.

 

Some questions will burn tonight.

And answers will die on my bed.

 

I, like a squirming maggot

will never break it out.

My wings  would never ride

the wind like the butterfly.

The ants are climbing

this white walled kingdom.

The night owl squeals a secret.

While the lizard is ready

to pounce for vengeance.

 

That’s what is left of me.

An spectator to the scenes which

I could not connect in a thread.

Bare. Hope. Chance

snapping some strings

and shout eureka. I found it.

 

How shall I fill the blanks

that never beg for words?

Naked. Lying here like a piece

of shit and this suicidal poem.

Eccentricity finds no reason,

dangerous and hangs its limit.

That yielding point.

 

Sanity is a false shelter where

no one wants to be intruder

and break down the door.

Open wide discovering

another neck is lingering

asleep forever in dreams.

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I met Monet

in his princely demeanor,

among the manicured lawn

and the secret garden

grows its verdant sprigs

and tresses, wild and free

in the prairie. Butterfly

flutters  paint palette

hovering bloom

after bloom. Solitude

 

drips in cadmium and ochre sun

sitting prominently,

potted and composed,

regal and undisturbed.

A gentle touch of the brush

that peaceful gaze,

horizonless strokes,

a sweet landscape.

 

I walk dreamily

drank with loveliness,

the wavy enthusiasm

of the blue sea.

Such is the welcoming

spirit of the flags

sashayed in the wind,

gliding together

with solitary birds

taking flight. Still

 

above the silver lake,

mirrored pools

of mountains in reverie.

I see reflections

of wooden boats

bobbing in a dance

with quiet clouds

rippling soft creating

small shivers

in its feathery face.

 

I remember the way

he  ushered me in

like an esteemed guest.

Taking my eyes to see

his picture books

of seeming easiness,

that immortal silence

showing how

to live as human,

not quite heavy

as his tormented soul.

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Came down the confetti

among the concrete gardens

of skyscrapers in the city

we embrace-

the promise of freedom

remembering the days

when you conquer

the hearts of men.

Frail and afraid

among the chains,

blind slaves to tyranny.

 

Bye, bye

yellow butterfly.

 

Flutter your wings

amidst the tempest

set free, unafraid

of your glory-defining

turbulent life.

 

Like the many yellow

ribbons tossed in the wind,

a salutation to dawn.

An ode to the beauty

of your kindred spirit.

 

Bye, bye

yellow butterfly.

T’was a long,

long way journey home.

Fly away graciously

among the angels

heaven bound.

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There was a time when I thought happiness

was infinite and the night full of stars.

And I have my way of keeping track

each day written on a page. There was a time,

when the breeze came to my sails

as it float away myriad of dreams-

like kites braving the sky.

And the harvest is here,

filled my basket overflowing

of summer fruits in its season.

 

It was a time of plenty

and a time of tender love

when every prairie blooms

in the suppleness of spring.

Basking to the sun’s golden stream

into the woods by the mid-morning

when I endlessly salute those fine,

bright times rejoicing.

 

But like butterflies flutter their wings-

yesterday is a maiden whose beauty hides

by the moonrise. I sit there by the terrain

watching the sunset. When the light

of the day were torn pages into pieces.

In the autumn,  like falling leaves.

Sadness came. A blight of the winter

and the frost became cobwebs.

The winds now, they sing a dirge

slowly becoming whispers. Yesterday

walks away silently, weeping like a lady.

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