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Posts Tagged ‘regret’

It is Sunday (I hope it’s Saturday)

still I dread about the things

that need sorting, or mending

or keeping the weekly life in order.

 

At the routine and the job not started.

Of promises I keep on procrastinating.

When I complain that time is not enough

but I spent most of it thinking how

 

will I ever escape the inner tensions

that keep gnawing my brain, restless

and un-contained, filled with regrets

I ought to pace with speed to numb me.

 

For the plates and cups that need washing.

For the pieces of clothing that need ironing.

For the broken fixtures that need fixing.

For the furnitures that need dusting.

 

And Monday will come. When you wish away

it is weekend when you get the alibi to be lazy

on Friday. Pretending you work hard but counting

four more days and you slam down the paperwork

 

bolting out for freedom. Still it is Sunday.

I hope it is Saturday, better nights on Friday.

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You had no inkling

how it is to suffer.

 

I had a pair of scissors

by my bedside. Ready

to cut the thread of a dream

clinging to me like madness.

 

I regret the insanity

of my deep sleep.

When everything

appears to be real.

But unreal- once

I awakened.

 

That day when I open

my eyes to the naked

truth I found missing.

I am nothing. Invisible

to your touch, fragmenting

like a shattered glass.

 

I am on my own again.

And the constant fear

of losing you. The battle

will end here

tonight.

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The burden of thinking

whether to let it go or stay

is like a paperweight to a page.

 

And there are lines yet

unwritten here-

about the good things

that is not meant to last.

 

Regretting the end of

the fleeting blissful 

moments I had with

 

the wanderer of dreams.

 

Love’s free at last,

drifting away

lighter than feather

out of my grasp.

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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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A box of reverie

I open today,

when hearing

a familiar old song.

An empty gaze

through the empty hall

brought back-

sunny days

and the carousel.

 

And all

the happy couples,

filling spaces

with their dreams

It used to be-

some balloons

float there

among the clouds.

See, even doves fly

with freedom on its wings.

 

Like changing of seasons

drifting away-

a gentle river

changing course.

I became-

a  passersby

to the playground.

To the carousel.

On one bleak, cold

Sunday morning.

 

If I have been-

a little kinder,

saying hello

with a smile.

But mine is

a restless heart.

If I have been-

a little braver

sending a letter

saying goodbye.

Maybe I’ll get

one sad response.

 

People, they say-

comes around,

the second time.

But there are things

which can’t be undone.

But here, in my quiet-

fathoming loss,

filled with regrets.

There is a word

that just, simply

left unsaid.

Sorry.

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Frenetic, as it landed

on the document tray,

an acid-tounged letter

replied to on impulse.

Foreshadowing regret

of telephone laments-

“What had happened?”

 

Post-its scribblings

by broken Staedtler

Staple wires sealing

recycled envelopes

while shredder syncopates

a denouement-

“Who’ll be the next?”

  

Attached in clips,

highlighted in neon-

eavesdropped gossips,

disguised information.

A persuasion of hearsays

into domesticated opinion-

“Is it the last day?”

 

The day of reckoning,

desks to be cleared-

clutter and disposables

into half-filled wastebin.

Empty cardboard boxes

piling knick knacks-

“Are you okay?”

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She, who had made herself contented, in the quietness and peacefulness of domestic life and who has remained unmarried.  She never complained about loneliness of going solo, though I believed she had the love of a real mother to her children.  She had the most of her daughters and her sons, even if she never gave birth to anyone of them.  But I believe she had been more than a mother who understands beyond what she can see.  She listened by her heart.

On a cold, gloomy night, when a feeble-hearted child search for warmth, her side is a tender light. Her blanket of motherly love assures.  More than what she can give, she gave without question.  More than she can be able, she lifted their spirits up, when all the world has abandoned them.  She defended them like a mighty tigress. 

Far-away, her children journeyed long to find their own reflections in life.  And she stood by, each morning by the door, whispering prayers by the heart and remembered them fondly.   Her thoughts traveled by and lovingly cherishes memories of her children when, once, she had taken care of them all.

She speaks louder in her quiet gaze.  Her eyes can pierce through a soul and can decipher the deeper need of a child.  Child, she had taken them, nursed them to grow into strong women and strong men who never compromise honesty to be themselves.

She had lived enough to a chance.  A chance to love without expecting in return.  A chance to fill her days of love and not of regrets.  A chance to keep good memories throughout the days of her life.

She waited days.  And waited more for years until she hopes to see them in her own eyes.  Hug them so tightly as she missed them so badly.  They are her world.  They are what completes her. Until she takes her flight to the afterlife.

I never had the chance to say goodbye and say thank you. I am not there to feel her silent tears.

That is real pain.  A hole ripped off my heart.  And its beyond words.

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