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Posts Tagged ‘pillows’

We have to spend our whole life getting up

each morning and see the many suns

rising courageous from the horizon.

A simple life- who knows when to retire

at night time and hug long-time companions

called pillows and dreaming dreams.

 

There are episodes here, which send ripples

into our seemingly monotonous existence

everyday. And we have to wage battles

with boredom and her sisters- called mediocrity

and irrelevance. But not all were lost.

Somebody needs to learn how to befriend them.

 

Some may think that something was lacking,

but perhaps in the company of silence we find

orbs of thoughts in the usual grind of days

like the fowls of the air having simple cares.

Season after season. Day after day. Aged

but content to the simple things that matter.

 

The small country talks over the weather

and life in the farm begins with asking folks

how the young are doing these days at school.

The familiar warmth of seeing old friends at a gathering.

The joy of witnessing someone else’s milestones.

 

The farewells and well wishes when someone

is leaving our own little places to discover

the bigness of things. There goes a little prayer

and a hope that nothing is wrong when one decides

to stay and carry on doing their tasks each day.

 

We might spend our whole life thinking it’s good after all, 

though it has never been easy and there are rough times.

 

But it will never stop us believing that peace within

is the only dwelling place, our enduring shelter

when the day comes that we will never be able

to witness the sun and it has forgotten to rise.

 

In the darkness, we hope our soul in its own little spaces

can see the moon and stars light up the evening sky.

While the wind whispers- all is well, we’ll be calm as the sea.

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I never had a dream

in black and white.

Like the moon’s

dichotomy of faces

and the ocean’s

abysmal depth.

Mine is a crisp

flapping of maple-

leaves turning fire

in the autumn sunlight.

Or a bottle-nosed dolphin

gliding in cetacean grace.

Light refracting on water

of blue and purple magic.

 

I never had a dream

in black and white.

A monotonous photograph,

of flexed sinewed arms,

simulating sand dunes

meandering in ochre charm.

Mine is a far-away galaxy

in its celestial wonder.

Wispfully bursting show

of orange, yellow and magenta.

Or a mirrorball gyrating

flickers of crystalline.

Metamorphosing reflections

of gold and silver sheen.

 

If I ever had a dream

in black and white.

I will suppress them within.

Until  this dark room becomes

one mystical secret garden.

Invisible yet seen.

Letting my pillows

constrain the brain

like an amoeba

entrenched into blood

clotting, pools of red.

And maneuver thoughts

into a kaleidoscopic

shades of the rainbow.

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