Posted in Art Scene, Current Affairs, Literature, Memoirs, Poetry, Relationships, Travel, tagged ache, across, Africa, ageless, almost, along, ambition, Arabia, arms, around, candle, chime, clock, constant, countless, cowboy, cry, devotion, difference, dinner, discover, distance, dream, east, end, exchange, familiar, feet, fireplace, fishermen, flex, forge, forget, grand, grandfather, grow, hands, hour, how, image, intimate, journey, laugh, life, lifelong, light, listen, lofty, love, make, make-believe, man, marvelous, Mediterranean, memory, might, move, mystical, north, old, out, pace, poem, poetry, prayer, quiet, reach, recall, rekindle, remembrance, revolution, romance, sailor, Samarkand, sand, shift, signal, silent, simple, slow, sound, south, spring, stand, steady, story, sundown, sunrise, tears, time, tireless, Travel, twelfth, west, whisper, Wild West, wildlife, wind, winter, within, witness, wobble, woman, year, years on July 9, 2010|
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The clock strikes the twelfth hour.
As the familiar sound of wind chimes signals
another year of moving on, slow and steady.
Remembering the images of the man
within the constant, shifting revolutions
of sunrise and sundown in this woman’s life.
Witnessing how lifelong travels have ended,
forging across countless dinnertime of growing old.
Around the fireplace, rekindling romance.
Recalling the stories of the fishermen,
of sailors down the Mediterranean.
Of cowboys in the Wild West
and the wildlife in Africa.
Of the mystical journeys
from the sands of Arabia
to the sands of Samarkand.
Those intimate exchanges of lofty dreams
and grand ambitions traveling marvelous
distances of north going down south.
The eastern spring and the wintry west.
Witnessing how she listened. And almost
forgot the difference, whether it is
the story of this man’s life in the stories.
Or simple make-believe.
Witnessing how she wobbled achingly
at her feet standing up and lighting a candle,
whispering a prayer. Memories became
mighty flexing arms reaching out for the years.
Discovering the man who makes her laugh
and who makes her cry the silent tears.
Witnessing a love that will never grow old.
Those quiet devotion as ageless and tireless,
pacing along with the hands of time.
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Solitude Amidst the Maddening Crowd
Some Skin
Posted in Current Affairs, Literature, Philosophy, Poetry, Relationships, Social Commentary, Society, tagged beauty, lust, morality, poem, poetry, relationship, seduction, Society, woman on November 24, 2014| 3 Comments »
I do not know
if modesty reciprocates economy,
if morality stands a chance,
let me think now.
The shape of your dress
suggests
the promise of contours
of valleys and hills,
rolled into
that voluptuous ridge
your cleavage reveals.
Your beauty maintained
on night creams
and anti-aging gels
to appear lighter
and paler. You dab
some talcum
or face powder
to shine
like a nacreous pearl.
You glisten like marvel
of an immaculate gold
in the mirror. While
your perfume leaves
a scent to mesmerize
and hypnotize
on every man’s desire
lost in the art
of your seduction.
Your lips is an illusion
of an inner sanctum.
A prized conquest-
euphoria. Only the voyeur
dares to enter,
and touch without guilt,
and tickle
on every man’s fantasy-
its forbidden pleasure.
Your body as a trade
makes a woman’s secret
hard to accentuate
without showing,
without shedding
some skin,
some naked truth,
some coveted assets.
Like a midnight nymph,
hoping for some man
with happy hours to spare
to shape a dream.
But you know- like others,
he will not stay.
Longer before
the day breaks.
You, among the many
became one of every man’s
warm bodies to breed.
And it isn’t going to last,
no promises made.
As soon as his lust fades,
he runs away
taking the shimmer
from your moon.
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