Sunday morning fogged up sky,
Stilled-grass glossy quiet birds.
Monday noon time dew point high,
Raging sunlight dimly skirts.
Tuesday chilly way past twelve,
Rustling green leaves billowy.
Wednesday pouring by loneself,
Nodding branches willowy.
Thursday cloudy six o’clock,
No beams piercing yet at dawn.
Friday clearing night in Oct,
Mystic shimmers pose a song.
Saturday morning’s a blue sky,
Reaching, chasing, that multi-hued ribbon.
Let me embark on this journey,
Of black-white fairytales,
Repainted with arching colors.
Let me depart for the sacred fruit,
Sour then sweet,
A songbird’s tweet.
Let me have those moments,
Cause my life is a second short,
To live for your anticipations.
Let me dream away.
In this ruin
Of our pinky promise
Not a slice of gentle residue
Did your absence reveal
The secret
Of my wishful thinking?
Those hammered notes,
Wild rolls, and gentle beats.
Do you still remember,
The pitch that lingered,
The tune we hummed together,
That dream, we both wondered?
You once picked up ‘em
Blood-red rose petals, and
Tickled each with fickle strokes
Of an amateur wordsmith;
Then danced on tiptoes, and
Knocked on my labyrinth’s wall
Where the garden lies beyond,
Oblivious to tick and tock;
Yet the silent rain betrayed
The crossing of the vows, breaths, pledge,
Its own testimony,
And sung the lost paradise;
But now,
why don’t we fall back again
To that dream of our red mansion?
“Life is short.”
The inevitable death,
Yet we try hard to live against it. So
Laugh,
Cry,
Cherish,
At last, reminisce.
Since when, was life short?
That short-lived bloom,
Rendered an utopian dream,
And caressed those arid years
Of a featherless swan.
That short-lived bloom,
Tiptoed off tulip’s bed,
Leaving a nostalgic scent
On vibrant strings.
That short-lived bloom
Of a rainbow.
Side by side
Next to our favorite smile
With trembling voices
From one pounding heart
Those days
When we were little
The world ceased to matter
Your Little Red Riding Hood
Remembers
I’m constantly finding myself dreaming
of today, yesterday
But, especially of tomorrowWhere you’ll find me
Among the marigolds
On the rolling green hills
Where you’ll hold me
Where you’ll kiss me
Where you’ll ask me to be yours
Those moments
Like flowing water
Impetuous, untethered
From all dimensions
Those touch
Lingering in the nights
Of cobalt-blue, penetrating
Those days
In the scent of cherry blossom
Saturated, but oblivious
Until it wilts
The feather left behind
Buried under
Never asking more
Nor ever wishing less
‘Cause you were here
The weep of mother nature,
Hammers the delicate chords,
A lullaby of sweetest tunes,
An organic tranquilizer.
The descending kisses,
And its euphonious steps,
Purified the agonized soul,
Submerged all six senses.
Her gravitational pull,
Like invaders’ storm, through veins,
Knocking at chambers’ door,
For the captive butterflies.
The weep of mother nature,
Pouring, for keeper’s surrender.
The wind, restlessly reckless.
Piercing through
The line of defense,
Armor of flesh and bones.
Its howl resonates
The soul within, reverberating,
Like the undulating waves.
An hostile advocate,
Breakage of the stoned heart.
Drenching in scarlet drops,
Mirrors a coward.
She sat there,
A skeleton’s silhouette,
Poker-faced.
“Grandma,”
Said the young girl with luggage in hand.
The response delayed,
As if she couldn’t recognize.
“Do you remember me?”
“Yeah.”
Fears, holding back,
Mindful of her ghastly appearance,
No silence ever so heart-rending.
Soon the girl returned to her world,
And Grandma passed away not long after.
The girl is unable to forget that night.
She misses how Grandma pinches her cheeks,
Walks her to the park,
Shares a drink next to the water,
Wakes her at nine, but telling her it’s already noon.
And how the girl wishes to kneel before her grave
and say I miss you.
I do.
