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.
Like the seeds and the flowers, I, too, long for the sun to lit my face and so I follow the direction of the light. I don’t turn my back to its warm glow, I tried it once but I only saw shadows. I crawl, and walk, and run, and slowly tread my path towards the light ~ it is the only way I could get a better view of life, of my destiny slowly revealing itself from the distance as I travel on. It’s like waking up, rising, walking and following a spark of light in the morning haze believing the promise to see my full vision coming to life as I travel on.
As I draw the curtains open ~
Welcoming the light to my room ~ in the morning,
I’m warmly greeted by ethereal scenery,
From the window, of the garden.
Velv’ty petals, captivating;
Ferns’ fronds waving, pruned bonsai trees, green leaves sparkling.
The morning dew trickles on the leaves, like pearls dripping.
My secret treasures, my blessings.
Along, a light soundtrack playing,
Of winds whistling, and birds in the background chirping.
Closed eyes, I inhale the eucalyptus essence,
Wafting in the air of morning.
A breeze steals me a tender kiss,
In my mind, I draw someone’s face and lips, and wish.
Evanescence, with open eyes, it vanishes.
‘Tis gone like a dream, leave no trace.
Fruits mellow as I wake today.
Seeds sprout, birds perched and nestle in the mango tree.
Fishes swim in the pond, contained, yet feeling free.
Tendrils cling, vines rising, like me.
(Rising: Welcoming The Light By: Jeques B. Jamora – October, 2005)
As I continue to move forward, the light defines itself and give my life new meaning. Destinies reached become part of the colorful trails I left, like lamp-posts to mark my glorious travels when I look back and re-live the lights of the memories. I continue to rise from the grounds of home that anchors my heart and where I am deeply rooted. So no matter how far the distances I reach as I continue to chase my destiny, I know where I belong, I know my heart’s home.
Bay-bay, Roxas City, Philippines
In a tropical isle in the southeast,
Is a dormant waif seed with lots of dreams.
He is home, but his soul seems not at rest,
For across the seas his destiny beams.
Visions often visit him in his sleep ~
Winds taking him to his frontier west.
In a tedious journey, ardous and steep,
He feels the adventures pound in his chest.
He drinks the sweet mists oozing to the earth
That nourish the seed’s dreams, feeding his soul.
He feels the world’s warmth while inside his hearth,
And thrives through the earth’s generous heart dole.
His homeland gives his dreams a sense of place.
Your encouragements kindle his life’s blaze.
(Nourished By Jeques B. Jamora – March, 2006. A poem I wrote before I left the Philippines)
This week, the Writers Island prompts us to write on ‘Rising‘ and ‘Destiny.’ These are my thoughts, these are the songs that my soul sings, and I know many in http://writersisland.wordpress.com would love to listen. Please visit the island where many souls are singing.