Bliss
That blissful
somnolent
lazy
lethargic
gorgeous
feeling
When you lie down
next to a
loved one
on a cold
chilly
wintry
Sunday morning.
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Month: March 2013
Melancholy
A strange
melancholy feeling
flutters
in and around me
as I look at
these two people
who have
given me
the happiest
most secure
childhood
ever
And even now
as a grown up
the deep belief
that a safety net
always lies
beneath me.
I see how frail
they look
Their movements
just a little bit
slower
tentative
Their daily life
just a little bit
harder
to get through.
And I close
my eyes
shaken to the core
Not wanting
to believe
Finding it
so hard to accept
this new reality
Wishing
I could turn back time
for them
and just a little bit
for me.
The feelings
spill over
and
the emotions
I can’t contain
come pouring out
in shiny
diamond
teardrops.
I dream
Sitting in a crowded square People all around me I dream of open fields And starry skies And darkness to surround me Walking down a bustling street Shoppers everywhere I dream of forest paths And fallen leaves And hidden, dappled glades Lying by a clear blue pool Swimmers everywhere I dream of turquoise seas And glittery shores Where waves come crashing down Standing in an empty room Silence all around me I dream of sunny days And giggly friends And laughter to surround me
Going home
A few more hours
before I fly home.
And isn’t it strange
that even now
years after I’ve moved out
mom and dad’s house
is still the first place
I call home?
A lot has changed
in that house
And a lot more
has changed
within me
But what doesn’t change
are old
childhood memories.
Homework, exams,
College apps
Future plans
Crushes
Heartbreak
Love and laughter
Ever present dreams
of happily ever afters.
And as I walk
through that familiar
white door,
those old sights,
sounds, and smells
surround me.
And I yell out loud
“Mom I’m home!”
Photos
I look back in wonder,
at all the pictures I’ve taken.
Some beautiful, some ordinary,
some quite simply mistaken.
A ridiculous number of them
should simply not exist.
But I find I simply can’t delete them,
and therein lies the twist.
Except for those times when,
in a shutter-happy frame of mind
I have taken a hundred or more shots
that show no difference of any kind.
In such cases, feeling rather sad,
put upon, oppressed, indeed quite blue.
I go through the multitude,
and then I deign to delete a few. Very few.
After all, each photo represents for me,
a moment captured, a precious memory.
Frozen in time, to look back and see,
all that I was, all that I wanted to be.
These pictures are my past,
To be laughed at, smiled over, cried for.
And sometimes, looked at in wonderrment,
the thought running through my head,
“Just WTF was I thinking?”
Pictures? Words?
They say that a picture
Is worth a thousand words
And I do sometimes wonder
Should I stop writing
And just post pictures instead?
Pictures show
Exactly what there is to see
Though, in their own way
They lead to varying flights
Of utmost fantasy.
But words, ah words!
They push me to think
To dream and to build
To draw something from within.
And these words form images
That are born inside and set free
Unique, unusual, belonging only to me
Mine in a way
That no picture can ever be.
Searching
I sit at my desk
Blank page in front
I need to write something
Anything
Anything at all
I type some words
I look around
Searching for inspiration
Everything seems so banal
Uninteresting
Run of the mill
I type some more
I look at my words
And exhale
Deeply
I’m tired today
My muse is hiding
Deep within
What should I do?
Where should I go?
How should I write?
And then
I look up again
My quest
My words
Sit before me
Magically
Transformed
Into poetry.
