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Posts Tagged ‘divine’

Forever seems a word unspoken

upon seeing the herd of caribou

silently crossing an ancient pathway

under the pearly moon.

 

The soft glistening flutter of misty light

on the river finding its way to the sea.

Reflecting the stars painted on the sky

like little eyes- all knowing

since the beginning of time.

 

It made me cry.

 

Something within me springs

divine and humbly I begin

to wonder-

 

My smallness

in the scheme of things

pre-occupied with thoughts

of needing only to survive.

 

Creatures of this earth on the move

tracking down the maps of our lives.

Encircling this cycle waiting

for the sun to rise in the morning.

 

Travelling through journeys

winding as these trails

like the herd of caribou

silently passing by the route

 

with one life to live.

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To Pablo Neruda

I write these letters in smoke. They are fog

to the starry night of the south where you existed,  

circumnavigated the world, then extinguished

as a flame, long before I was born.

 

You said you had lived in the springtime

among the cherry blossoms of the west. While

here on this island, I had lived humming

lullabye amidst the scorched patches of sand.

 

I cannot sit still and my memory was filled

of your presence here. I can hear your voice

from a distant time and place. Your voice has traveled

and finally touch down inwardly and it lingers.

 

Tonight, the sad lines of your verses haunt me forever,

love is short and forgetting is so long”.

I chewed the words on my empty stomach

as the light from your waning moon fills my room.

 

I have no windows, they are shattered.  There is no door to enter,

so you don’t need to knock.  Inside my house is fire left by bombs

and gunfire.  And on my earthened floor are scattered pieces

of limbs and severed heads of dead dogs and cats devoid of shelter.

 

I have seen the heaven through the bullet holes on my tin roof.

And the fire is still burning from within. I have seen the clouds

unfolding and unfastened as I became the enemy of the gods,

pot-bellied in the pulpit- imposing cruelty to fools purchasing piety.

 

I have been an inheritor of misfortune, like a stubborn root

of an old dying tree, digging the earth to its graveyard, a tomb.

I seek to find in this endless tunnel, a repose for my corpse-

stiff, in pain and left there naked, writhing in the cold.

 

I can no longer find the stars in the night sky, Pablo.

And the tears begin to fall like rain on the tin roof.

Outside, you wailed a storm, flooding my being,

persistent, engulfing me with the soliloquy of the night.

 

This bed I made out of the coconut tree, lacerating my body

of little knives, that have sliced and shredded my soul. And I

smelled of the blood through the blade of your words

as I whisked them away to the westerly winds to reach you.

 

I ask you. Why things happened this way? History blood-stained.

And the sea mourns while changing course of the mighty river.

In the horizon, a crimson tide of the many who died seeking the meaning

of their lives. And the night birds still singing their lonely dirge.

 

I ask you. Where are the lilac? Immortalized in sonnets by men,

those middle-aged aristocrats. And the women becoming birds of prey,

caged and waiting to be sold.  Incessantly knocking on the doors

to see some faint hope traversing the day into their neon light.

 

Where are the language of stars? Deciphered by hypnotized strangers

who quest for clues and signs and wonders.  Why does the rain

did not stop from falling? I am bailing out to exist from this deluge,

finding redemption while concealing my cowardice. I cannot fight.

 

I am poor, Pablo. But I know your name. And the dense earth that

we both lived, became the pavement for  marching foot falls

of the many striving to live to see until their dying day- freedom,

justice and equality. Unanswered like prayers, unheard of the divine.

 

Your verses did not speak of dreams and leaves and great volcanoes

of your native land.  Your verses did not promise the opium

that will heal the wounds of time.  But your verses have spoken

of the blood in the streets.  And the blood in the streets, I have seen.

 

I will offer an elegy in my homeland. I will sing your song in vain,

hoping for someone to hear and join me singing your immortal chorus.

Your ashes I would want to scatter into the night clouds until tomorrow.

When morning will be awakened by pilgrims sojourning the other world.

 

And still, I am waiting for the stars to appear in the Far-east. I had

only a rose to your funeral.  I will not be able to attend. But I will

whisper to the westerly winds my discontent and the endless despair

you will hear from the shore of this island, questioning existence.

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Waiting’s over,

the night journey ends.

I welcome.

 

Nature’s curtain call,

clothed divinely

in morning dew.

 

Grey-brown lichens,

the light streams

into silvery branches.

 

Gentle flutter of green

upon the tree bark.

A solitary moment.

 

When the leaves sway,

fascinating colors

left me enthralled.

 

Warm and fragrant,

your subtle caresses

my inner calm.

 

Cascading sunlight

into turquoise pond,

I will bathe.

 

Enter my sacred sanctum.

Embracing sunlight,

I catch you.

 

Sunlight dances

with the morning breeze

into gentle romance.

 

Amidst the canopy

hiding me away.

I am found.

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Let me beach to your powdery sand,

a beachcomber with seashells on his hand

delightful picking colored stones ashore.

 

On your rugged cliffs I climb and went,

lingering to witness your misty sunset

touched by the wind of this summer’s kiss.

 

The leaning tree, a coconut, subdued me,

as it veils its shadowy palms over me-

dancing divine light, streaming reverie.

 

Seawaves sailed glinting in the bluegreen.

Its white fingers frothing immaculately-

spotless against the island’s fragiled skin.

 

Beyond the blue the sky can reach,

who can say what paradise might be-

this secret cove  of shipwreck’s lost.

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Outstretched are

green mighty arms

of thorny crowns

prickly under the sun.

 

Lowly shrubs

worshipping the sand

winding tapestries

of the golden strands

 

It swirls. It whirls.

The desert breath

summoning the clouds

to quench its thirst.

 

Its parched hand. 

Its speckled face,

lips of heaven planted

its misty kisses.

 

When the sun wearied,

will the cold rain

Preciously sparkles jewels

such in the night time.

 

Of  the dewdrops

cusped into little ponds,

clustering brown cakes-

the food for the gods.

 

Eastern winds

will etch  its caresses.

Like a lover

embracing the earth

 

Ah, in the arid landscape

a desert nymph beckons,

resplendent amidst  glory

divinely renews a vow.

 

Surrendering,

welcoming back

a pilgrim finding respite

on its oasis.

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A Prayer

Dear God, how I miss you too long. I am here in the silence of my heart, in a place where I am always longing to embrace You in my deepest sincerity. I know that I have got a friend in You. And I am now remembering the countless blessings You have given me and how You have rescued and lead me out of the many struggles in my life.  As I remember that, I am so humbled that yes, You are the Great God that never ceases to reach out for Your children and loving them still.

Dear God, I am so thankful, that my prayers You hear, maybe some of them unanswered. But I know, that You know what is best for me. And I am amazed how You unfold them each day right to my very eyes. I am puzzled to know how You turn each of my life’s events to prepare me to another and then suddenly to know that You have given the best answer to that prayer.

Dear God, give me a heart to prayer, to pray for my loved ones who needs You so much in their lives. How you will fill the void they had and let them see how beautiful life can be with You. I need to pray for my friends and acquaintances, that Your light  and grace be upon them day by day. I am also praying for humanity, that in all their circumstances, may be able to give a little kindness towards one another and make a significant life change to another person.

Dear God, make my life Yours, as a vessel, for the purpose of fulfilling Your Great Commission. I have known that the true joy of my living is in serving You. Make me a servant and therein lies my life’s fulfillment. Amen.

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Perhaps, Teofi

the promises of your future withers too soon

like the leaf falling early in the summer

where we frolicked in the fountain of our energies;

and bask in the heat of our freedom;

and in the nest of fermenting dreams with another human.

I can tell Teofi, how sad is the early goodbye

where you breathed your last and let go

without questioning  who deserves to live more

and without crying over your half-empty cup.

So long that I suddenly stop, I remember

your acid- washed litanies and the morbidity

of your soul longing to be understood.

I fail to grasp the hidden images of your words

to the point of harboring steely tears

over the innocence of your chameleon smiles.

Perhaps Leden,

I cannot fathom the depths of your pain

as if the morrow of your life leaking silently

until the thousand roses leave those lips.

I may not hear you scream to the bowels of the night

fighting the demons of what cruel love has.

Let me feel, the inability of you pointing fingers

to a person who has destroyed your world as if

I can paint the sky with hatred and revenge.

Let me hear  you sing in the divine discontent

of your heart seeking to embrace

the fullness of the glorious unfolding

beyond the corners of your abode.

Perhaps Grandpa,

I can cry me a river searching for the clown

of my many Christmasses and Easter Sundays.

Of letting the clouds softly traversing

like the music of the yesteryears

you keep playing on the radio.

I can say that you choose to live the most

but you never have told me that I

will be missing so much a part of the child

that was taken from me since you’ve gone.

Perhaps,

I would have not lived at all since then,

of querrying, of imagining how death

must have snatched me from my mother’s hand.

All along,  I might be carrying this imaginary coffin,

grieving among the countless earthworms swarming

and crowding the earth

in the numbness of our existence.

Forgetful and aimless like a dead man walking.

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