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Posts Tagged ‘landscape’

It’s not the imitation of a scene

of a snapshot perhaps.

A memory perhaps

 

beneath it.

 

I see words

swirling past shadows

of a hand restrained to speak them

but paint the sky

with reds, blues and yellows

in circles and dots

of dreams I am afraid

to wake from.

 

Sunny days

in my weekend beach walks.

Windswept cold and bleak winter desert.

And the frozen grey and snow

collecting at my window pane.

 

Still

 

on paper water diluted tones,

shades and hues wandering

the landscape of my memory.

It may be the translucence

or opacity of colors. The absence

of whiteness and blackness

that leaves neutrality

 

of the wide space. I dwell,

linger and fade into horizon.

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Sometimes,  I catch myself

wondering about you

on some moonless evenings

or misty mornings, drifting-

where have your pages brought you

on some ride in the wind

or tail of a comet’s end.

 

Somewhere

hidden beneath the shadow of stars

thinking

 

who’s reading you now.

Whose hands walk

the landscape of your soul.

A borrowed moment

inhaling your scent

and leaving fine, little circles

of fingerprints

much softer than mine.

 

Sorry if

I left you-

 

like letters I burn in the fireplace

while watching the ashes float in winter air

and fall sadly to the pavement. Like rain

 

remembering the sweet hours.

The blur images of innocence

and immortality you believed

then, but honestly, I realize how beautiful

it was

 

and I kept you

for awhile but good things never last.

I wonder

 

who’s reading you now,

whose mind can fathom

the deeper meaning of you.

Whose hands were

much cleaner than mine.

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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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His face is a map of caravan years,

weathering the desert sun and

the seasonal flood by the riverbank

which brings in salt for a modest living.

 

As the sand windblown and collected

in the seams of his linen turban,

anxiety constantly snake through

the mazes of his troubled mind.

 

He needed money.

 

Like how the puff of smokes

from his cigarette escapes

are fragments of his ancestor’s past

excavated from walls of antiquity.

 

He is mulling to leave the landscape

of ancient ruins, the mud-dried bricks

and clayed houses and desert wilderness

for the glowing lights of the city.

 

The mosque signals the call to prayer

and he sat down on his cushion

unfurling a sheaf of parchment,

reading through his mangled glasses

 

the fragile scribbling of faded ink.

On its brittle yellowing pages appears

like gold. This manuscript he wants to sell

to tourists he is waiting to pass by.

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Mystery unravels tonight,

strange a landscape-

since you left. The room is

a parched valley of sheets

as I lay naked, bathe

in the lunar light.

 

Sans the gravity

of your satellite. It orbits

without the ocean’s rage

of high tides luminating

passion, as I grope

within the walled corners

of the stark midnight.

 

Sadness falls

like rockets ebbing

the bed. Its trajectory

creating pockmarks

and craters

of a dormant volcano.

I tip-toed.

 

To our dreams-

pinnacled fortresses pierced

with shrapnels of regret.

Ripping pillows

until blood-tinged feathers

hover the vacuum,

shatter into belt

of asteroids and clods

of moondust.

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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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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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