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Posts Tagged ‘ice’

She sits in the zenith of her charm

as her hair cloaks an icy landslide.

By the lake reflecting

her forbearance-a glaciated

countenance. In the coldness

of her white impaled heart.

She falls from grace.

 

She quivers for a fragiled balance

of power crashing down the slope.

Deeper into the boulders

are little rivers descending

crystalline from her snow-capped

precipice. Subtly triggering

a chilly end of an age into its feet.

She kneels. God save the queen.

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I am smoldering in the night.

But you’ll see no passion, only sober

semblance to a gargoyle, seating.

And towering over the city lights.

 

Ah, the fahrenheit must have drop

below sub-zero. My steely psyche

a block of ice emitting smoke,

numb in whiteness. I froze.

 

Ignite me a matchstick. Tell me

what you see when melancholy

lurks slowly in my bones. Splintered

cinders, then into ebony parchness.

 

Ah, am I a comet zooming, as it hits

your universe then dissipate like a frizzle?

Imagine  me as a flame of a dying star-

morose. Traversing your love’s black hole.

 

You didn’t know how hard to contain

my tamed affection. You just didn’t know.

I am smoldering in the night, but

you’ll see no passion. I am sober.

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I was on my way to a restaurant that late afternoon to meet a friend, hurrying and my mind was filled with gloomy thoughts. My mind just wandered aimlessly, battling inner fears. 

Rebel as I was, it seems that I am all wearied and fighting against the world, crushed in the agony of my self-defeat- I succumbed into powerlessness.  I have met a familiar darkness of my soul once again. In such a long time.

I am depressed that day.  Defeated by reason. I am filled with anger emblazoned across my face.  That day- I am not the usual masquerading, self-hiding chameleon in the cloak of coolness and charm.  I am likened to a ticking bomb.

I have questions.  And lots of them.  As endless as the broken road markings. My combatant nature would never accept any kind word- even from the most endearing. That was one time I had feared myself the most- who is capable of hurting myself.  Like a jagged knife ready to cut the ventricles of humanity in me.

Somewhere,  in a sudden mysterious way, I heard a helpless chirp.  I stopped and started searching the source  by my side.   And I have found a little bird, that has fallen from a bird’s nest from the nearby palm tree and landed on the ground.  It is too early for the little bird to take flight.  My hardened composure melts gradually into a compassionate being.  How on earth, this hapless sight would pour a cold, cold ice to my raging soul?

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, a stray cat emerged. Prowling as if it is finding something to devour.  In my quick thinking, I immediately snatched the little bird from the ground, rescuing it from danger. From harm and from the claws of the enemy-  so vicious and lethal.

Just when I thought, that what  I did, is the right one, I felt a sudden pain.  A stinging one.  The little bird had bitten me.  Surprised as I was, I accidentally dropped the bird away farther  into the ground. Then the next thing I heard is a scuffle in the bushes until the hopeless chirping stopped.

I am overwhelmed.  I just stand there and was filled with a sudden grief.  I can’t believe that life has been snatched away from my very hands.  The life of a fragile creature. A tragic lost.  Tears quietly streamed down my face until it became flood as pent-up emotions surged and overpowered my anger like a dam  breached loose.

That moment, I wonder,  how vivid  this circumstance made my soul saved from drowning and wallowing in despair?  My life, I learned, can be like the hopeless little bird, compared to a  child out of God’s hand.  How powerful can God teach me a great lesson, a stiff-necked person as I am, who never learned from His admonishing?   The questions that I have over-analyzed  for years has crumbled under the weight of God’s wisdom which is mightier than what I can comprehend.

Like a prodigal son who came back to his father’s arm, I did the same coming home to what God has purposed me to belong.  With the lesson of that hopeless little bird, I just knew that my life on earth rest only on His hands.  All I needed to do is to have an unwavering faith and complete trust on Him.  And God has impressed to me to stay in His dwelling place as long as I live.

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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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Seldom will I ever had the chance to talk to a beautiful mind.  Seldom will somebody can really connect you to something that stimulates your senses and make you stop and listen to what he or she might be saying.  These are special times and quite a rarity.

In a conversation to a new acquaintance, I am having a hard time cracking myself open and start a little chatter about something that of little importance.  I am so shy, unless there is something in this person that lightens up and usher me to strike a line, a joke, just to break the ice.

Something that tickles an interest. I must confess, making yourself interesting is hard, but it is a lot harder to be genuinely interested to somebody who is opening up to you for the very first time.

And I met this beautiful mind in a far-fetched place  somewhere in Fujairah.  He is a Syrian. His name is Wajdi. A simple man. No pretensions, contented of who he is. And though his present status would allow him to choose his friends meticulously, he would rather not. No prejudices of whatsoever. And I must say that he have this.  A beautiful mind.

When I visited Ann and there he was, interestingly fragile, is aloof at first. If not for Ann and Beth (Ann’s friend), the connection might have been lost somewhere. And how in the world that an Orthodox would comfortably mingle with a bunch of Filipinos like us.  I believe there would be some cultural clashes in between.

But wait, he doesn’t look like an intruder. He looks like a lamb who is not fond of complaining and whining about his life’s travails. When he talks about his country and his way of life, he can vividly describe it in words. It’s such a wonder  to imagine that you are seeing it first-hand in your mind like a map.  I never had imagined how he eloped some of the traps I have made during our conversations. This I intentionally do, just for the purpose of cutting short a probable senseless chatter, if the case maybe.

But amazingly, he would come up with a fresh perspective on a topic, and he can keep up with the task to make the conversation flowing and interesting. Then unknowingly, the hours would stretch longer due to the countless exchanges of  opinions and anecdotes.

Wajdi is not your ordinary guy. He is someone, who never eats red meat, shuns too much eating especially rice. He would just be contented of his Arabic bread with some unknown herbs on it. Though, in between his stories of childhood, it was quite clear to me that he is  used to this eating pattern. One time, I sarcastically told him, that he might end up as tasteless to me if I would be a lycan or a monster ready to devour him. And he would just smile innocently.

And on my last day in Fujairah, I told him that if I would be given a chance to bring him to Dubai, for being a good conversationalist with  his witty and intelligent arguments, I said, I would chop him part by part and put him on my luggage. And he just smiled there.  He nodded, and said that I can do so if I really want to. That was meant for a joke.

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September will leave me

with the aroma of this earth,

and the patch of grass

signals the equinox of life.

In a nostalgic note of melancholy

as the raven standing by 

lulling me a dirge

of last summer symphony.

Soon, forest fingers will be cold  as ice.

Sheathed in layers and layers

of the old northwest wind.

Like pirates of the high seas

going home to anchor their ships

to end its once imperial voyage.

September will leave me

as the spring blossoms cease

its immaculate sheen.

Amidst the falling

golden hairs of the arbor.

Until another coming

of summer solstice.

And the oceans will slowly

dampen its warm embrace.

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