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Posts Tagged ‘watch’

Your alabaster beauty

fills these empty halls.

I am watching you.

As my hand memorizes

each curves and contours

of your sculptured life.

I chiseled. I breathed

a ghost of someone

who will never  be able-

to reciprocate nor return

the passion unfolding

in cold stone, white-

washed in lunar glory.

 

Hush now, Venus, hush

in your half-baked shell.

Please  lay by the fire light.

Under the moon’s silhouette

and the night full of stars,

feel my night’s embrace.

Letting your nakedness

guiding the master’s touch.

The ocean tides mounting

under my skin, surging.

Setting ablaze a part

of me. Hidden, unrequited-

this undying desire.

Rise now, Venus, rise.

I want you.

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You will find me here sitting

at the end of the sentence-

like in a breakwater. Waiting

 

for ships and vessels of words

in this twilight seeking

the meaning of this impending

darkness.  When

 

it anchors and begins to unload

subtle images of this lonely harbor.

Watching the past

sinking down

 

along

with my heart.

 

And the sky will once again-

dotted by inkblots.

Smeared into the face

of this teary evening.

While time slowly

freezes, then fades into

early hours till daybreak,

unfinished.

 

When I am not

being able to say

goodbye.

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Mid-air  in my waking dream

are clouds and clouds away.

Like migratory creatures

homing their way into

transient frontiers.

Lulled by the rhythms

of the humming steel.

It churns anxiously, and

earnestly of home.

 

While the hands of time

back paces into

a counterclockwise.

The book of days

Suddenly flipped

to a journey of old memories.

Of  some silky threads

of years slipped through

in a hindsight.  As if

I didn’t left yesterday.

 

Then, something in me

fluttered like a fly.

Or is it really?

Touching down

this imagination to a farce.

 

As I watch the blue sea

became the bleakest

monotony of rust-colored roofs.

And the bumpy runway

made me remember

of the past.  That is much more likely-

today.  When nothing ever happened

to the ones I left behind- yesterday.

 

The gossamer of traffic.

Life entangled mazes

survival in the loop.

Sleep walking and heady

as the smog filtered

in my nostrils.

A reality I denied to believe.

Have I gone too far?

Too fast. Too soon.

As if I didn’t left?

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There will be a single spark of light.

But not from the stars. Because even them,

they have shied away and have forgotten.

Here, only from my birthday candle

casting shadows waltzing the wall

and the chilly wind whistling a tune,

sending wisps of wishes, for tonight.

While the rest of the world snoozes

in its deafening silence. Getting used

with the normalcy of tragedies.

And in their lukewarm sympathies.

In the quiet corner of the city, littered

and battered of the rain-drenched

images of chaos and shattered hopes,

on the table a bowl of rice

and a can of sardine. In a color

charcoaled space,  I breath as a man

determined to celebrate my existence

among the ruins with this twist of fate.

I shifted my gaze from the table

to the broken windows and watch

the passing of the storm clouds

in the evening sky. I am happy

but no sound of laughter. Hearing

the incessant drop of water

from a leaking roof.  Contented

among the shadows. Decided

to bury the hatchet of what is past.

Gathering what’s left after the storm.

As I dream of patching the tattered

and pock-marked walls, then hide

the traces of mud  in fresh white paint.

Believing nature has a way to let people

start anew. De-cluttering my life of things

that entangle men of never-ending want.

Until now,  when I had less.

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As I would keep my path

clear

of grass growths.

I will find a way

leaving a trail.

 

And watch

the sky touching earth.

The feathered wings

of my angel

on the horizon.

 

I hope.

I would keep my footsteps

slow.

To observe

some familiar things.

 

I used to see

in my many quiet mornings

in the clearing.

 

I would follow

the sun beams.

Over the veil

of the fog.

 

As it lingers

above the field

of windflowers.

 

I will gather some fallen twigs.

Some fallen leaves.

In a jar.  Keeping moments

 

for potpourri. I am breathing in-

my home in the prairie.

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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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On the passages, it says

of a prison, an exile. In Babylon

where walls and ceilings are gone.

Watching the blue sky

turn into darkness, blotted out

by billows of smoke and fire

over ruins of crushed bricks

and pulverized sandstones.

 

Three hundred and sixty five days.

And life now are moving images

of evacuees and troops,

of tanks and warplanes

from a distance. Boundaries

of earth mounds and trenches.

Through my camp’s window

is a restive realm to which I stand

invaded by bombs and gunfire.

 

I daydream of home-

while placidly inside,

a vision of seed emerging,

growing into a tree.

Whose blossoms

quite imaginary

at the old hanging gardens,

the fruits at its season

drops by the waters

carried  away into streams.

And rivers, down into

the Persian Gulf.

 

Freedom and peace-

these wandering thoughts

and the desert winds

whispering to my soul. As restless

as the river currents shifting

from Tigris to Euphrates.

 

Like Nebuchadnezzar- whose ancient cares

flocking like grebes by the floodwaters

inundating history. The centuries old

slipping  away a kingdom whose

former glory will never be restored.

I have changed. 

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