The Silent Spectator
I remain a silent spectator, a bystander watching love from the coast. I have not yet placed that last card in the table, I have not yet gambled my heart to anyone. I’m like a boat watching the ocean wanting to sail, but choose to remain in the harbor, in the seashore silently waiting. I’m known to be always in control, I’m independent minded. I maneuver my own life, never afraid to plunge into the ocean of uncertainties but when it comes to love, I chose to stay in the harbor. Love, like anything else, is a game of chance, you gamble and you put your heart at stake. It is not really fear that’s stopping me ~ that could be when I was younger. But now, that’s not really the reason.
This is the time of my life when I already know how to choose my battles ~ so I don’t rush anymore into something that’s not worth it. That, I think, explains why I remain an observer, still unattached and why I choose to remain a silent spectator at this point of my life. I view a quite different side of love from this angle, not too many would understand me especially in this age when people get hooked to anything “instant.” I’m not coward, or jerk or something, don’t get me wrong. No. I’m a risk taker in other fields but not with love. I place love in the highest esteem, I vow not to play with it. If I find somebody who would share to view love this way from this angle, I would be glad to gamble. It is only then that I would finally place my last card on the table, it is only then that I would gamble my heart and take on sail.
It is for this reason that I haven’t written anything “Torrid.” For how could I write something that I haven’t really done. I have two poems written which used the word “torrid,” in quite unusual manner, I think they express that unconcious yearning inside. I thought these poems are the soft whispers of my heart, the silent spectator.
My Story begins in the morning, before sunrise;
Stars are nowhere to be seen in the gray morning skies;
The roads are wet from the rain that bathe the humid night.
A quiet place; shadows fade, giving in to the lights.
I closed my eyes briefly, and smelled the essence of dawn:
The scents from flower buds opening to greet the sun;
Ricefields smoldering with fog of morning after rain;
And the aroma of coffee from someone’s kitchen.
I heard the crickets’ noise behind the bushes fading,
And the frogs in nearby streams praising God for the rain.
My eyes sparkled to the lights of the fleeting moments;
The roasters’ cries awakened me from my reverie.
The sun peeks through the lush trees creeping up slowly;
In awe, I watched the drama unfolding before me.
The wild wanton wind blow my cheeks with torrid kisses;
I wished it came from the lips of a love I longed to have.
The day is bright; the flowers I can now see clearly;
The verdant fields, and azure skies in their hued glory.
I saw birds taking off the skies, soared, chasing the lights;
They streached their wings wider, as they fly higher today.
I feel like the birds embarking to a pristine day;
Like the fishes swimming toward the heart of the sea.
Travelling, I, too, am ready to conquer the day;
I tread the roads, and cross the sea; I am on my way.
(From the poe , “Traveling: Chasing The Lights,” By: Jeques B. Jamora, 2005)
Wary of waking the isle that still sleeps,
I dress up sofly for my morning walk.
I sneak out to the hazed dawn in mild steps,
And resumed my mute traveler’s self talk.
I begin my strides keeping myself close
To the shorelines of the insomniac sea.
I savor the briny breeze through my nose,
With consent, the winds kiss me torridly.
I took off my sandals to feel the sand
That longs to touch the bare soles of my feet.
The cool rush of breakers reach where I stand ~
I commune with nature ~ our spirits meet.
My voids are replenished by the sea.
In return, I shed my life’s loads off me.
(From the series poem “A Traveler’s Soliloquy” By: Jeques B. Jamora, 2006)
For writer’s Island prompts: “Torrid and Gamble”