The curtain of the night drops.
The howling of the wind
That echoes in the canyon
Cloaked the silence of closure.
Heaven sends its final greeting
In the form of raindrops
Where do I start, or
Did it ever end?
Words left me, or
Should I pick up from where I left, or
Simply move by?
Had I left the palette black, or
Was it white, or
Simply the absence of colors ~
A temporary recluse,
A self-exile from
My drawing board,
My writing table.
The easel put away,
As I lament
A closure of the page.
A quiet epilogue
Amidst the fading light
And sound Of the rain
The heart begins to pound.
A sign of life
Among the rabbles
Like walking dead
With no direction
(In the dark streets to nowhere)
Signs of the bread crumbs
As the sun breaks
Through the ridges;
Tapering the edges of the shadow.
The sweet mist of last night’s rain
Kissed the deserted page
Where words will begin to form again
Like spring sprouts
That would bring splashes
And rapturous sounds
To a heart coming back to life.
Where things end,
And where they begin is undefined.
Where I stopped
And when I begin is not known to me.
Everyday I awake,
That’s what I know.
Please Click sound button for the soundtrack >>>
Eyes lie in wait ~
Day and night ~
Skies in surveillance
Waiting for the sign
That might be sent
From the future,
As the gentle streams of life,
And the rough currents
That ever oppose
Mold the pebbles
In the bed of stones
By the river
Adorned by some weeds
Awaiting for some hands
To pick them up.
Awaiting for some great minds
To give them names.
Unaccounted for ~
Remaining like a worthless bead
In the infinities ~
Awaiting for some gifted hands
To weave him
In the precious thread
Of chance, to adorn
Like a pendant
To rest forever
Closest to your chest.
Pick me from the infinities
And carve my fingers
With marks to define my distiction.
Paint my blank facade
With a face
And buy me a name.
Find me in the dunes.
You’d easily recognize me
Among the pebbles.
And find in my eyes
Your own reflection:
Waiting for the sign.
Under your sheltering canopy
In the safety of your embrace
Beneath your reassuring grip
Like the shadow of the clouds
Passing by on a midday.
Such fleeting moments
Of alternating shadow and light:
And the silent anticipations in between
Fuel hope, keep the heart pounding
To reach another waiting shade
Along the way
Underneath your sheltering canopy.
His Name Is Ethan
Yes, I gave him a name and his name is Ethan.
I was called once to priesthood when I was in highschool, but I was expelled from the seminary after a year. Many are called, they said, but only a few are chosen; I was not. It was my first taste of rejection, and it was how my story with Ethan started.
I mentioned the seminary because I planted Ethan the summer after I was kicked out. I was 13 years old with wings broken. Nobody really cared to listen to my side of the story especially my father. My mother, as always, was there to console me ~ in silence. I was left alone in the corner to leak my own wound to heal. At that lowest point of my life, for a reason that I’m just beginning to understand now, God sent me Ethan to care. I always had some loner tendencies as a kid. That summer and years after that I became withdrawn, misunderstood. Gone was the child full of life, I fell down so low I never thought I could ever rise again.
For more about “Ethan,” please click image below >>>
I searched your eyes
Amid the souls
That flock the streets
Where were you?
Among the lips
That sipped the juice
Of simple joy
How would I single out
I ride the tides
To ambiguous blue
To find you
Where were you?
The isles dissolved,
And lost my hope
To see you
Where would I find
Your waiting arms?
I climb the mountains
But the fogs had seized you;
I reached the summit
And you’re not there
Where were you?
When the rains
Washed away everything
Down the mountains
Would you catch my tears
In the streams?
I left the stars
And slept in the cradle
Of the waning moon
Where were you?
In dark nights
When dreams didn’t visit
Would I catch a glimpse
Of you at daybreak?
I search your eyes
Amid the souls
That flock the streets
I guess I’d be forever this way
Til the day I catch true friendship
In the eyes
Until the day
When fate lay on my empty hands
The gift of ‘Amistad’
Where were you?
Jeques, 2010. From his “Traveler’s Soliloquies” poetry collection.
The places we visit are like peepholes we take a peek, revealing parts of a bigger picture of the journeys we take. This is what New York showed me. I visited the place for the first time last year, but it felt like I was there forever.
Land of childhood dreams
Hedged in by enormous seas
Have you ever had thought so strong it follows you all through life? I have. It is incessant and tarry as the waves to the shore that come, and go, and come back in erratic intensity of currents taking me back, up, down and forth.
Years back, I wrote this haiku piece included in my Filipino Immigration collection and New York, I have to confess, was the place in mind when I wrote it. I had a strong feeling even then, though I didn’t know exactly when, that one day I’m going alight on to its grounds like the damselfly and walk its streets where my dream arrived ahead of me. For somebody who lived in the other side of the world, it was a dream that for years I half-believed, but after January 17, 2009, with all my heart, I now do.
I first saw America in a postcard, in a picture of a snowy Time Square, New York and visited the place countless times in my thoughts. I’m not sure who owned that card, or who sent it to whom and from where, but I think of it now an invitation sent by my fate from the future to come to a place. An enticement I ignored, or perhaps I turned down at some point doubting possibilities, but the invitation ever haunting.
Years after, I arrived in Chicago and saw snow for the first time. I walked the streets in many snowy days, and my thought of the christmas card would return, unreeling in waves and waves of flashback like an old film but the picture always incomplete, not until last year, when fate put me exactly in that old picture of the postcard I once viewed as a child. My dream and I converged in Time Square where all the elements conspired, and felt the snow the way the child thought it should feel melting on my face when I arrive to answer that long time invitation.
I really thought my many years of incessant thoughts of New York ended when I finally answered its invitation. But I fear, No! I left many stones unturned with my brief weekend visit last year that continue to frequent my reveries, courting me with new angles of possibility. This is what New York mean to me now. For many years, it’s something impossible and far away, and when I reached to touch its grounds, it remained mystical and distant. I felt ignored during my visit. I even wonder it noticed my presence. Perhaps it’s my fault for ignoring the invitation too long that fate have forgotten about the christmas card and didn’t recognize me when I finally stepped into the picture to answer its long time invitation.
I love New York
But it didn’t love me back
A love that endured
Years of dreaming
And wake up
To walk its streets
For fleeting moment
And temporary bliss
With its rushing time.
I chased you
In the fast lanes
Of my recurring dreams.
I run after your affection
In the weekend
I spent with you,
I love New York
But it didn’t love me back.
I contented myself
With passing glances
Until the curtains dropped
And the show ended
When day light shied away
From your night lights.
But that’s when I start to dream,
Again, where you become real.
Only in dreams
That I belong to you
And when I trully walk your streets
And leave marks
Of my footsteps
In your heart.
When you wake up,
I hope you recognize
Among the many vagabond
That walked the paths
That meet in the intersection
Where dreams alight
And don’t dissolve
With the fumes
Of your heavy traffic.
Only then that my dream
Would really come alive.
New York is one of the places I visited that intrigued me to fathom its relevance to my journey. It is like a hole in a lock where a key would fit one day awaiting to be turned to reveal me many things behind the shut door. I doubt the possibilities no more when fate put me in that picture and walked the streets of the postcard of long ago that gave me the preview of what was to come and in fleeting moments became a surreal reality that weekend. I know I need to come back to complete the story and when I do, I would not leave a single stone unturned.
Our dreams may reside in many different places. Places that would speak to us in many different languages, giving us messages, revealing to us secret codes that would help decipher the mysteries of our journeys. I wish my pictures would work like the old postcard did to me and reach the eyes and hearts of dreamers to invite, to entice and reassure that dreams still come alive if we believe. And I hope you would answer that invitation soon.
Don’t make your dreams wait too long.
Jeques at Stairway to heaven. Time Square, New York, January 2009
What is there left to write,
When my sense of home has faded.
Fallen souvenirs pirouette in the air ~
Leaves dancing downwards ~ like specter.
The ink must wait, and rest til winter is over
(My spirit retires to quiescent under the covers)
Things freeze like the trees, even the lake dozes.
As wakeful hours become less and less,
Mind loses its bluntness,
The page speechless.
Distance drained my veins bloodless
Even the pulse of my pen ceases.
I’m losing grip of the eidolon of home,
It’s warmth I no longer recall.
Like the trees losing their leaves to autumn,
The hands of memories that used to lift me,
For a time, fail to save my spirit to fall.
I let the cruel wanton winds to take me;
I trust the higher will would be kind.
I write my thoughts in the palms of the season,
I trust them to come back in time.
When my sense of home fills me up again;
When revenant of home,
Jeques, 2009. From his “A Traveler’s Soliloquies” poetry collection.
‘Tis when I fully understood the colors and the shapes and molds, and the forms, and the feel, and everything about my soul that I trully begun to learn to dress up. ‘Tis when I learned to listen to my heart’s songs that I was able to write his poetry. ‘Tis when I completely viewed my soul with all my senses that I was able to limn the images of the empire I inhabit in my mind reflected in the canvas like vignettes from the corners of my imagination.
Just be with me.
See my heart and soul
And let time
Stand still ~
Look at me.
Show me the spark
behind those eyes
That you would not
Talk to me.
Translate your silence
So I would fathom
In your glances.
Write to me.
Send me letters
Of your heart
So you would fill
My empty page,
In my chamber
Anytime of day
While I’m awake
Or even in my dreams
In my hours
Run your finger tips
On my longing cheeks;
For my hands
For your reassuring
Those elusive eyes
To stay still
Always looking away
From my direction.
Whisper to me.
I want to listen
To your heart
Of your soul.
Let it speak.
Just for a brief moment,
Please look into my eyes,
Let time stand still ~
(“Notice Me,” from the poetry collection of Jeques B. Jamora, 2008)
How do you like me wearing the fabrics of my soul and not the clothes that the world imposed on me to wear when I was younger?
If I tell you what’s inside this mind, would you like what you will hear?
If I tell you you’re part of the dots and lines I create, that you’re in my every brushstroke, each word, each line, in every piece of me would you even care to notice and listen?
If I tell you I weave my story around you, would you be interested to hear that story or buy the volumes of book I write in my mind about us?
Don’t be excited with what you now see,
Don’t love me for what I have so far shown.
Be excited with what else I could do ~
Love me for what more I can show you.
If I tell you that my thoughts of you reside with me in an empire, would you decide to live there ~
And if I tell you I build us home in my heart,
Would you come home with me?
Waiting, I sit on the city’s park-bench
And observe the busy pedestrian
Like a parade, as time moves in a cinch.
Some images conjure up memories
Bringing pain back that feels like heart pinch.
Reminding me of sad journal entries.
Some happy thoughts, too, unreel in my mind
As strangers traverse the concrete walk ways.
Evoking flashbacks like films in rewind.
People swarm the makeshift stalls of flowers
Picking colorful blooms in varied kinds.
Their petal droppings are lovely litters.
But I doubt it would be conspicuous
To the eyes of a city street sweeper
Whose life a routine and contenuous.
A grain of sweat trickles on my forehead.
My body reaction is congruous
To summer heat ~ it shines like precious bead.
The sounds of busy traffic in the street
Subdue the past’s bells ringing in my head.
Years go on, but things hasn’t changed a bit.
And then, I feel light pats on my shoulder.
I see your face, my waiting is over.
When was the last time you paid attention to the details of life? ~ Jeques
Nalalanta ang mga halaman
Plants are wilting.
Nalalagas ang mga dahon
and flowers descending
Natitigang ang lupa
The grounds are drying
Sabay ng pagtulog ng mga batis, ilog at lawa
As the springs, and rivers, and lakes fall asleep
Sa pagsapit ng taglamig.
With the coming of winter.
Sa kanilang pagkaidlip,
On their sleep,
Ang mga puno
Take a bow
At babalik kung saan sila nagsimula ~
Returning where they came ~
To the grounds.
At doon ay hihimplay
And ’tis there that they would sleep
Mag-aabang sa muling pag-agos
To await again for the ebb
Sa kanyang pangungulila,
On his longing,
Sya ay tahimik na maghihintay.
He will await in silence.
Tulad ko rin,
Patuloy na umaasa
Na muli kang babalik
For your return
Upang sa akin ay muling ialay
To give me back
Ang pag-ibig mo
Sa akin ng buhay.
Sa unang pagpatak
On the first drop
Sa pagsapit ng tagsibol,
Ang mga puno.
Will rise again.
Pipintig nang muli
Ang aking puso.
Would start to beat again.
Sa iyong pag-babalik,
In your return,
Ako ay mabubuhay ng muli ~
You will breath me life anew ~
Uusbong ang mga dahon,
The leaves would sprout,
Mula sa mga lanta na sanga ng puno,
From the wilted twigs of the trees
Ang aking pagmamahal
Tulad din ng mga bulaklak
Like the flowers
At Iibig nang muli
And my heart
Ang aking puso.
Will love again.
The dusts had finally settled
From the stage arena
Where the battle was fought.
One genuine soul is left,
And remained standing,
Triumphant with her gift
Claiming the throne
The smoke across the skies
Had finally desolved
To the thin air
The once fierce bolts
From different directions,
And the dazzling colors of fireworks
flaring in the evening skies
are now gone.
And in the clearest
Of midnight blue
Of the arched heaven
A new born modern-day warrior
Victorious in tears
The once dark horizon
With her inner brilliance.
Will always look up
To be inspired,
To dream ~
And wish upon her
That my dreams,
Will come true.
One would only feel, fully, how it is to miss home when he is away. I now understand. Since I left my country, it is also when I felt that profound longing for anything Filipino. So I always try to re-connect in anything I could, to be bathed by waves of nostalgia, to get a temporary relief of the aching longing for the warmth of home.
Entertainment has the easiest access, but I didn’t expect it to flood me with overwhelming sense of home, I’m just an ordinary soul after all, a spectator in the ground silently admiring the stars; I’m just an audience, a fan. I only have the mega star, Sharon Cuneta , to admire since I was 6 years old, for she gave my life positive influences with her lasting stellar quality that continue to shine as she age.
And then, came this brilliant soul dressed in worn clothes, crooning me with her ethereal voice that’s undoubtedly from heaven drawing my eyes to her flickering light from the distance, beaconing my ears to take heed of God’s love sealed in her voice that transports me home. I obliged to her calling, I became a close follower, I became a fan. And placed me to the company of the many filipinos who shared our admiration for her – she introduced me to many filipinos from home and abroad and our interactions brought me closer to home in the many months we fought with her in her battles. All these ease my homesickness. The kindred souls I’ve met, with her singing voice as our soundtrack in the moments we shared watching her from the distance, became my extended family and I never felt alone again.
On the first week that she was threatened to be expelled in the academy, I was in the church that sunday afternoon begging God to give her a chance for at least another week to share her haunting voice, her gift, her heart – God must have been laughing in heaven, for in the first place, it is His hands that took me among his gathered people to be used as instrument in putting Laarnie Losala in a place He planned her to be.
My prayers was granted more than I asked for when Laarnie was declared winner in the recently concluded Pinoy Dream Academy Season 2. I thought my life with her would end there, but NO! I am haunted by her voice, I am drawn back by people in this group that accepted me like a family. Dlight, is one of them. So, when she prod me to write, I obliged and this is it. Laarnie’s gift had rolled and multiplied showering us with inspirations – let the poets compose poems, let the writers write, let the artists create and let us all dance to the tune that God’s hands direct us!
Let us celebrate His gifts!
(click this YouTube video clip to listen to her sing. credits to the owner of the video stars01)
We are joined by our hearts’ seeking radars.
Our souls converge at midnight’s starry skies.
We talk, our words are the infinite stars.
We feel so intimate with our closed eyes.
Our unions are chronicled by my pen.
The winds’ soft whistles signal your presence.
Your image flickers through my window pane ~
Silhouette of my dream-lover’s essence.
In my mind I touch the face of heaven,
When you croon to me lovesongs of silence.
Bliss is what my thoughts of you has given.
You illumined my lonely existence.
Romance confined in shadows of the night.
‘Tis evanescent with the morning light.
You came to bring me summer sunshine,
You left to leave me autumn gloom.
Like a speeding train,
What happened to the vibrant days,
Where have my sunshine gone?
Why do the clouds just suddenly
My smile, don’t fade away
Why do you have to give up
Your sunny yellow ~
Have I not brought
Your life some bright lights,
Why do we have to go apart
Would the evening light
In this changing season,
Would it ease
The growing yearning
With its subdued
I rest my heart
In this lonely season.
But I would keep our paths
Of grass growths.
May the railroad
That took you away
Would lead you
And when you’re tired
Chasing the changing seasons,
You could always return
To an endless
Here in my resolute
From life’s garden
Creating festoon of memories.
I weave them in a tender thread
That binds us ~
As sturdy knots
To embellish the wreath
And hide the sorrows
Now and then.
And shared laughter,
And tie them with ribbons
To mark each moment
That I take in.
Would ease the burdens
‘Til we see
Each other again.
From colorful memories
Strewn in green:
I will crown your head
Where the memories
Would always remain.
Rests on my chest
I search for signs of home
In the arched-sky.
What I see are walls of concrete and steel.
I long for the warmth of a humid dawn
What I got is the chillly wind of the city.
I miss the morning laughter of home,
The cries of the iron birds taking off
From their concrete nest is what I hear,
Along the sleepless noise in the streets.
My nostrils take in whatever scent
That would bring me wave of nostalgia
What I have are the fumes of the busy traffic.
I need a single soul to remind me of home,
But he’s fast asleep in his room.
This is my saddest daybreak.
Watching a different horizon away from home.
And then it happened.
The sun slowly crawls behind those walls
And rises on the ridges of concrete and steel.
Its first ray catches the tears in my eyes ~
I see dazzling bright lights magnified.
And then I am enlightened.
Somewhere in southeast asia,
In one of the ‘lil isles of the Philippines,
This sun, in the same sky, in different horizon
Rises every morning at home.
And I carries the memories of those sunbreaks
For they are etched inside my chest.
Today turns out to be my happiest morning.
For I know now that the sun
I watch rising on the ridges of concrete and steel
Is the same sun that will rise tomorrow
In the home of my heart.
Only it will rise
On the mountain ridges.
I still don’t know what love means the first time I saw you many months of June ago. From above, behind the glass window, I watched your every move below. I studied your every detail storing the moment in my memory which I kept all these years inside my heart. It would be a surprise for you to know that I still remember the clothes, the shoes you were wearing and the person you were with that day when my concealed tales of you started and endured many years. I opted to stay behind that glass window, I’m better off this way, you will never know my secrets for I will continue to watch you from afar and admire your every detail from the distance. In silence.
Something happened inside me that day. I fear losing the magical feeling so I kept it to myself ~ Somehow I have triumphed for the feeling always remains. Returning to memories, feeling that feeling again, reminiscing, opening the glass window of my heart, I still get a blush and my heart still beats faster everytime. It grows with me, it evolves as I go on, surviving the seasons, re-surfacing, re-emerging from my highs and lows in love. My safe place, my refuge and everytime I fall, I run back behind that glass window to watch my photographs of thoughts and I would feel better. The feeling endured many years of triumphs and defeats, of joys and sorrows. You are my true bliss, only I celebrate you alone. You are with me wherever I go, I have pronounced my vow to you in silence, I have kept that promise.
The world ’tis vast, ‘
tis graced with too many faces.
Many wouldn’t last and some few just leave some traces.
You are the face that I longed for and missed.
‘Tis your cheeks, your lips that I dreamt
To plant my first
The sun will continue to rise and set, the days would continue to bring forth the cycles of the seasons that would grow new sprig of life, of hope and I will continue to believe, returning to memories celebrating my love behind the glass window.
Wherever time would take us in the face of the planet the sun would continue to shine upon us, at night the moon would keep the mystery of my secrets as I whisper my wishes upon the stars behind the glass window hoping one day my feeling would become transparent to you and you would see what’s inside this heart.
If forever means falling in love to the same person over and over again, then I must have found forever.
For Writers Island prompt this week: “The Return”
Behind The Glass Window is part of my “Love Stories (Well, Almost)” collection.
Life taught me the hard lessons of parting early on. My first best friend was a classmate from childhood I met during my first day in grade school. I’m not sure how his name was spelled, but I remember it sounded like “Hanibal.” My memory of his name is as bleak as my memory of how he looks – I only have a blur image of a boy my age with a new haircut. But I remember the joy finding another young soul to share my thoughts when we first entered the door of education.
Our friendship begun as soon as our first class in grade one started. We met in a classroom that smelled of the mixed scents of fresh pads, newly plastic covered notebooks encased in our new school bags like our minds ready to be filled with knowledge. The smell of freshly sharpened pencil and scented eraser would always bring me back to that moment. I remember the fresh scent of soap when I bathed that morning excited for my first day in school. I forgot the color of the clothes I wore, but I still remember how my new shirt smells. The scents of these things always conjure nostalgic thoughts, reminding me of my first best friend I lost with the passing of time. The places we reached and continually explore widen the spaces between us, and narrowed the road that once put us together at one moment in time. But in my mind we always share the desk, in that corner of our grade one classroom.
I was seated in the front row at the right side of the room next to him, a stranger just like all the other faces around me. It was fate that placed us seated next to each other, but it was our choice to become friends. The feeling of being left alone for the first time, drew us together. I feel at ease with his presence the moment we first introduced our names. We became friends before our first recess, and by the end of our first day in school, we have found in each other’s company the joy of real friendship. I cannot remember any other details of our days together, like I cannot recall anything more about him. I just know that he made my first day in school less scary to the surprise of my mother who anticipated the worse. I easily got over my separation anxieties and fear of strangers. I looked forward being back in school and always take home fun-filled stories at dinner time, telling my family about my newly found friend.
Morning comes and off it goes.
Like people come and (ouch!) they go.
For some brief moment they come my way,
But few are meant to stay.
Life’s lesson of letting go,
And memories remain with me.
Days passed. Our school activities progressed, school became my second home. But one day, I found myself unusually seated alone in our desk. My friend was absent when our teacher checked our attendance. I waited for him until recess, but lunch and afternoon classes came and gone without him. The same thing happened the next day and the days after. Our teacher some few weeks later changed our seating arrangement, making me vacate the desk we shared in our classroom where the emblems of our friendship vanished. I later heard their family moved to another place and he transferred to another school far away that my young mind then was incapable of reaching. I was assigned a new desk in the second row at the center aisle of the room after that and had new seatmates. From time to time I would glace to our desk wishing him back. My new seatmates are faceless and left my memory insignificant traces so were the other friends I had after we parted. I only remember one friend from my first day in school and he is my first real best friend.
Life taught me early on that some perfect moments could go wrong. Friends come, but I could not expect them to stay, for like me, they too, have lives to live and journeys to complete. I am not sure if my friend remembers or would have the same thoughts. My friend may forget, but as long as I still know how the classroom desk smells he will always be remembered.
“Nostalgia” oil on canvas, 30×38. By: Jesus Jeques B. Jamora, November 2007
I was born and I grew up in one of my homeland’s scattered islands, in the heart of the Philippine Archipelago. Our country is embraced by the sea; if God is the ocean, then He must have loved the Filipinos so much. We are constantly caressed by the sea waves come high tide or low tide, the ocean enfolds us. We are generously showered by God’s salty kisses.
Rare pearls of south sea
Strewn on far off shores
(From my Filipino Immigration, Haiku Series #5)
The beach is one thing I miss about home ~ my walks in the sea shores, the brine touching my skin, the sand tickling the soles of my feet, the view of the open sea’s apparent horizon nourishing my dreams. I am now here ”beyond that horizon,” which I just used to watch in my walks in the strands.
Sometimes, you will never really know and understand a thing until you stay away from it. I now undertand better what I love about my country, and what I miss about home. The sea is one of them.
My earliest memory of the sea are the mangroves. These dense thickest along the rivers and the tidal shores was my first view of the sea. We live in the inland, so before I saw the endless emerald green seas under the azure skies, my young eyes was already captured by this mystical greens that lined the coasts and the river banks. There is something in their verdancy that transport me back in time.
Mangroves are time machines of my nostalgia for simplier, uncomplicated life of childhood. It brings me back to the summer of my youth, of my first boat ride, of fishing, of hunting, of swimming in the pristine river brine. My happy thoughts and bitter-sweet longing for my first sunburn.
Photographs from my recent home-coming to the Philippines.
The Sea, You and Me
I’ve seen how everything are connected
That somehow we are one ~ interrelated.
As I tread the sands stretching to the sea,
And my size is engulfed by its infinity,
I watch in great wonder how God links things.
And How God connected you to me~
The seawaves gently kissing the seashores.
The shore that’s bed to the infinite sands.
The sand that reaches the roads, that lead me home.
The home inside my heart where you belong.
You are safe in my heart you are home now.
Today, as you open the doors, streets you will see.
Walk the streets, it will lead you to me.
The many winding roads take you somewhere,
To the beach, maybe.
The beach where the sands are gathered
Forming the fine strands kissed by the sea.
The sea that stretches reaching me here.
The enormous sea that links you to me.
Thinking of the sea, painting the mangroves, feeding my nostalgia. When shall the salty sea-breeze of home ever kiss me again?
I am forever tracing in my mind
The creases in your palms,
When you pressed it close to mine ~
Your last strong grip,
Our last hand shake ~
Then we bade goodbye.
We met again,
We said hello.
I anticiapated a hand shake
That never happened.
In an unexpected moment
Your reach out your hand
For a hand shake.
In that brief moment
Beneath your usual firm grip
I trace the creases
In your palms I missed,
But they’re not there ~
We were wearing gloves.
I love to write sad poems, and read them. I may wear a happy facade, but I know inside me resides a lonely child. I find pleasure in keeping my tears in the corner of my eyes, and feeling that lump in throat while writing.
So I connect to that part of me by composing sad poems.
I nurture the fertile grounds of my lonely self to grow seeds of sad poems. I allow myself to chant sad hymns , if that’s what my soul wanted to sing. I listen, for that’s the path I should take to healing.
You must go on, and I must go.
I would not be far,
I would be close to watch you.
I would be the bright lights,
I would be the stars to guide you,
I would be one with the winds
You would feel my touch
As I embrace and kiss you.
You will be safe here,
I would be near.
You must go on,
And I must go.
The day has come and gone
We waited and it arrived.
But then we let it drift away.
The day left us.
And now we await for its return.
But like the seasons,
Wednesday would be here
Even if love is not.
So even if we say goodbye
A hundredth times.
And wait a hundred lifetime,
Just keep the love,
Wednesday will lead us back home.
We would be fine.
No Painful Goodbye
I want to get out of your life quietly,
I don’t want any of those sad goodbyes.
I just want happy memories,
I don’t want us to part in a fight.
I want to go without you watching me leaving,
I don’t want to look back and see you cry.
So when the time comes,
That you would know I’m gone,
You would see trails of our brighter days.
I never left you in those memories,
For there was no painful goodbye.
Smoky scent of woods
Slowly burning at sunbreak
Of my childhood lost.
Scents of morning after rain
The sun is rising.
Salty ocean breeze
Caressing the hair and face
Of the grown up boy.
Sweet smell of cut grass
Brings the boy back to school grounds ~
Mirths of used to be.
I forgot to post this here, It’s from the thread I once created in another site.
Now, What scents remind you of childhood?