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Posts Tagged ‘lady’

He stares at the frosted window,

dreaming of pigeons in flight.

Probing shadows in his oblivion

while the neighborhood is asleep

on this night bathed in blue light.

 

His heart refuses to surrender

to someone else’s handwriting.

 

He’s an outsider, perhaps a victim.

No one knows how he spent hours

imagining a beautiful world.

Unable to express, struggling

for a line to be understood.

 

An empty love bleeding sentences

that can never be written.

 

Such beauty, a flower in the field

belonging to some lucky bee.

Jealousy hits his innocence

like a knife to a man’s desiring,

leaving his wounds unhealed.

 

For the lady who reads letters

from some scented envelopes.

 

There is blood in the trash bin

and it does belong to him.

Among the crumpled sheets,

the fingerprints and drops of ink-

a memory of his scarred sanity.

 

How he endured the paper cuts;

this man’s life in blank pages.

 

The postman didn’t come today

and the letters were undelivered.

No one has foreseen death’s coming-

such as his knocking on doors

and opening of mailboxes, each morning.

 

They found a fountain pen in his hand,

motionless and still- in cold blood.

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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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After the hard day’s work,  I managed to get my feet moving and get out of my prison cell here (my little home office).  I wanted to go out with the intention of observing people along the streets.  I wanted to get myself back to reality, that hey, I should not be stucked in one place brooding about the stress of the job.  This day is a weekend and I should be easing it out.

I decided to rent a VCD from a neighborhood Video City store.  I almost watched them all, since the days back in November, as this proves to be a better way of de-stressing.  Honestly, I am a movie fanatic, most especially for the dramatic genre.  (Maybe it shows, because I love writing about short stories which involves drama. I am dramatic too. Hu hu hu hu.)

It is a no joke.  I love Maggie Smith, an old British actress, whom I first watch in her film  A Tea With Mussolini.  Last January,  I also watch one of her films The Divine Secrets of Yaya Sisterhood.  Well, she might be old enough for me to appreciate but her character portrayals  are astounding.  This time, a very simple film but with haunting emotional story treatment, the Ladies in Lavender, I happen to see.  She is acting side by side with another British acting great Dame Judi Dench, whose  film Iris, I also had the chance to watch.

The story is about two spinster sisters, living an almost pleasant life in the 1930’s in an old house by the sea in England.  But this period  in their life was interestingly altered when a young handsome man was awashed down the shore after a shipwreck. And the story unfolds as one of them (Ursula played by Dame Jusi Dench) being never-married, had a case of first love with the man.  But this was somewhat unusual as the old lady had a clinging bitter sweet affection towards the man.

Ursula, with the help of her sister Janet (played by Maggie Smith), have tried to nurse the man back to his health and teach the man the English language. (As the man is a Polish and have never spoken any English at all). Later did they find that this yound man has a gift of playing the violin, in which  case, a neighbor- a visiting artist Olga, tried to help him by sneek out of the sister’s old house and eventually bring him to London, where his music had flourished to an outstanding career.

The story is about Ursula’s strength of showing her affection to the one she loves eventhough the norms of the society dictates her not to. And Janet’s unconditional support to her sister’s feelings.  In the end, both sisters have tried to resume their somewhat simple life by the sea and accepted the young man’s fate as a blessing to their life.

This is a very good case of learning from the story that different people have different choices to make.  And happiness comes into different forms also, whether how a person perceives it and go on to the path they have chosen for themselves.  There are things that you need to decide for yourself even if circumstances and the present society will be unwilling to understand.

In Ursula’s showmanship of strength, she learned how to let go and not be sorry for her  circumstances of growing old without someone in her life.  She never aspired to be great but she aspired to be a woman who can boldly express her own emotions. Janet’s character lies a very good balance of looking into other people’s feelings in the process and respecting them for it. She had a very good grasp of knowing the acceptable from the unacceptable.

Life is like that. You need to be treating each of the situations in different vantage points. When the time, that you have to choose a certain path, you must stand by it.  But if it proves to be that everything you have decided is futile, you can have the liberty to go to another direction without any regrets. The key point sometimes, is acceptance. Accepting that we have all our share of hits and misses.  But that would not let us quit.  It can only anchor us to another mystery and another twist of fate that we might find ourselves blessed and fulfilled. 

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