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Posts Tagged ‘color’

Wood scars fray the edges of a sanity-

house paint color gave up its loyalty

to the surface weathered by seasons.

I am a man who leans against the backdrop

of grafittis’ with vivid emotions of discontent.

About an aching hand, bloodied by history

wrapped in white bandages soaked

in spiritual rhetoric. It didn’t stop

the bitter flow.  This hemorrhage. 

While bullets of sunlight streams within

dark passages to freedom fighting,

floating clouds above charred ruins.

The innocence held captive

in the hopes of winning

a logical war for a bitter peace.

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The chandelier sways a little

when the ceiling sheds its skin

to show its old bones. Paint on walls

reveal its freckles and birthmarks,

wrinkled through the shifting cycle

of Gregorian calendars. You worry

about the constant reminders

from the electric company,

those unpaid bills overcrowding

this three-legged desk. And the

water leaks from the rusty tap.

 

The old photographs dog eared

collecting fungus of memories

dampening happy days like rain.

And the red wine loses its color.

And the window curtains block off

the light, dusty and unwashed.

Breakfast unprepared, it’s another

long hours without eating but verses

of poems you chew in your mind.

 

Here is the knife and slice something

open, now. It might reveal a thing 

that you don’t understand.

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Gray is the color of the blank space

which separates the day into the night

I am caught in between.

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Like a string of pearls

snapped from the thread,

they rolled by to disappear

by the whiffs of a scent

opening up a stranger

to talk and be herself.

 

Sometimes you met someone

at a time you barely expected,

when suddenly somewhere

your world appears in color

finally. Stars begin to fill

the night sky with dreams.

 

Happy with a thought

that there’s never been a day

when you know you’re not afraid

anymore. She could be there

by your side. Your hand in hers.

Saying everything’s going to be

alright. Almost unlikely.

 

But fear is a great thief.

It plunders you out of years

slipping you by of chances.

Could’ve been. Love.

Should’ve been like that.

Undecided to pursue any longer.

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We try to say something but we can’t.

How it is easy for words to be hidden

beneath our necessity to be nice and proper.

While there is a wall we wanted to break down

to see if there is still more beneath

our obligation to be always kicking at face value.

Anger is foaming in our mouths like lava

simmering in a cauldron ready to explode.

Only to find that we are suppressing

our chances to be understood- for the sake

of keeping a fraternal duty to conform

to the will of overwhelming majority.

But we cannot hold it out any longer, this time

our hands are ready to throw in the punches

in the air and break away. Enough is enough.

Life is too short to stay in the mold

of  other’s expectations and of other’s choices.

Needing only to show our true colors, for a change.

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She took out a folded piece of paper

from her pocket. A handwritten note

she would read again. Then say,

“He loved me and I still believe”.

“He is from Oregon, an American”.

 

She hid this keepsake along with

a photograph.  Of a white man smiling,

in uniform, besides a military truck.

Her fingers would trace the line

of the man’s face, remembering.

 

When she first served him a drink,

seeing him there ever since. Then,

to her the bar transforms to a place

where promises of crossing oceans

were not so distant like a dream.

 

But they left. Leaving behind sadness

that will fill her days as she waited-

for her man to return and take her away.

To a place where the color of her skin

will not matter but a heart that she fully gave.

 

Year after year, she stayed while clearing tables

and washing dishes. Cleaning them spotless

and white again, counting them like days

she will have to wait. Leaving this place

crossing oceans to dream with her man.

 

Still, no news of him. Maybe, tomorrow.

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Lines converge

into the center of our visions,

unhindered by picket fences.

 

Shuffling images on a collage-

brick walls in grafitti,

kites, flags and confetti.

 

The gaping surrealism

in cloudless sky of reverie. Fleeting

in the tail-end of comets.

 

Color trapped in spectrum

of rainbows and sandstorms

obscuring the bluest of hemispheres.

 

“The world was linear,

we exist in parallelisms.”

This is our perspective.

 

Have we understood

the secrets of the horizon?

Our dreams fading without trace.

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