And a deep sadness enveloped her;
settling over her being like a fine
yet unceasing drizzle,
soaking her from the tips of her hair
to the soles of her feet;
permeating into her pores,
through each layer of her skin,
mixing with her blood
and into her bones.
Eventually making its way to her heart,
seeping in and burrowing into every crack,
becoming a sadness that was palpable –
like a rope with one end winding around her heart
and the other extending to a grave
with a headstone that read,
“Here lies the past, buried with her naïveté and regrets.”
In the Quiet
In the quiet
is where the truth rings the loudest,
there is no need to strain yourself to hear
what it is trying to say;
despite your reluctance to listen, in the quiet
is where you can wrestle with the truth;
it is where you can confront it however way you want;
it is where you can allow the truth to wash over you
and allow it to sweep
the lies you’ve come to believe.
In the quiet
is where you’ve tucked away,
only to be forgotten-perhaps unintentionally,
your innocence, that inner child
capable of laughing even after scraping their knees when they fall;
that inner child who would playfully
wear their slippers on the wrong foot;
that inner child capable of making a mess while eating chocolate,
smearing them everywhere, on their cheeks,
on the couch, on the curtains,
on the walls, leaving handprints to follow;
and wiping them without a care on that white
Care Bears shirt, only to be chased around by their mother with a broom,
scolding at the top of her lungs
while thinking how to take care of the stains,
and that inner child would continue to run around, giggling,
as if it was all part of the fun, and all was well.
In the quiet is where your most honest self lies waiting,
where your desires are unfiltered,
where there is no shame and guilt for wanting to be loved
in the way you believe you deserve;
to want someone who would look at you without lust,
and would love you even when your belly spills
and folds over as you sit eating another slice of your favorite cake.
Do not be afraid of the quiet, of the silence, of the stillness,
where your heartbeat is the clearest, that you are alive;
where every dark thought that comes to pass
also brings with it goodness, happiness, and joy;
where every breath you’ve kept on holding and taking for granted
is a precious gift, a nourishment for the soul.
So embrace the quiet and the stillness eagerly,
because the world has become too noisy and overwhelming,
drowning out the light and goodness that you alone can bring.
Lean into the silence, into your quiet and your peace,
let it cradle you,
until you find the courage to come back to your truest self.
A Rebirth Story
“I want to be reborn,” she said decisively.
So she plucked the moon and marinated it in poison;
she ground oleander and water hemlock,
and drank the decoction from her porcelain tea cup.
She gathered the stars—near and far, and far and near—
into her bosom, burning her skin
until she was stripped to the bone.
Then she swallowed the sun
and let it burn her further,
until all her wishes, her desires, her hatred,
and her attachments that had been deeply engraved in her bones
became nothing but whispers and ash,
carried by the wind
and scattered into nothingness…
“I want to be born again…”
Then she woke, and became a butterfly.
Luna x Sol
She was the moon, mysterious and ethereal;
He was the sun, bright and magnificent.
The day she was born
Was the day he died;
His arrival,
Was the day of her departure.
They were each other’s destiny,
Yet they were never destined to meet;
They were each other’s fated pair.
And both unaware, followed different orbits.
Though fated, they chased and ran,
And followed others
Without pausing to realize the restlessness in their hearts.
They were always a distance away, sometimes a breath,
But their paths would never cross
-Maybe not in this lifetime,
But perhaps in the next…
Hopefully, in the next.
The Faithful Lover
The faithful lover remains steadfast in their love;
Constant, in their trust;
Fearless, and generous in giving,
without regard for gains and losses
—until they themselves are spent….
They accept what they are given
and never ask for more;
Sometimes, the faithful lovers
forget themselves as they continue to forgive
their lover’s sins of commission,
yet not forgetting; not because they are keeping score,
but to remind themselves
in the moments when they are alone
—perhaps during their countless monologues in the shower;
perhaps on nights that are too quiet
with only the chirping sounds of crickets left for company—
that love is real,
and that every sacrifice will be worth it in the end
—until they are numb, and no longer recognize themselves….
Oftentimes, the faithful lover deliberately
ignores their delicate boundaries,
breaching the fine line between compromise and blind submission….
However, when faced with the universe’s disenchantment,
even the weak can muster up the courage
to walk away;
shedding off their mottled skin that has lost its glow
—eroded by their endless abandonment of their old self
to accommodate and adjust to their lover’s demands,
continuously forgiving…
Yet some who manage to walk away
forget to also forgive themselves;
they carry the blame on their shoulders,
asking what they lacked,
how or why or where they failed,
why they weren’t enough….
Some faithful lovers eventually find their peace, with time
—they are fortunate enough to heal, and find lasting happiness
amid the chaos and their struggles;
But sadly, some aren’t as lucky, and the blow pushes them
deeper into the mire
—losing themselves and never finding the strength
to look inside themselves and examine their scars,
instead they let it fester, and bleed…
and they bleed on others…
settling for dysfunctional affection and dependence….
Love begets love, and the faithful lover deserves a faithful lover too.
Untitled [25.03.2019]
These brief encounters
leave my heart throbbing,
as if a faint pulsating loneliness
slowly permeates and wraps itself
around the indelible memories
of our small farewells.
Her Last Love Letter
Dear M., she wrote
in lovely strokes and beautiful cursive…
in each line…
she poured out her heart
ending each sentence with
a tear…and a fragment of the love that still clung to each cell
of her battered heart…
she wrote of their memories…
of lessons learned…of realizations…
of the love they once shared…
of what was left of who they once were
to one another…
and she wrote her goodbye…
a painful farewell
to all the years they shared…
the plans they made…the promises…
the dreams they dreamed together…
the intimate moments…
and to the piece of her heart which only belonged to M…
Episode 2
need a place to crash…
somewhere far…
away from you…
from what we used to be…
from how we are now…
where the walls have no memory of you and me…
where hearts are never fragile…
where tears are a thing of mystery…
and pain is never felt…
11.17.12
and when she saw that glint
of sadness in your eyes
did she ask you if you wanted to go
or whether you wanted to stay?
or did she take your face in her hand
and distract you with her seductive
kiss to make you forget
the sadness which clings to you?…
and when she felt the disregard
and the coldness in your touch
did she ask you if you loved her
and whether you still wanted her?
or did she take you in her arms
and laid your head to her bosom
to make you inhale her hypnotic scent
and lulled you into forgetting
your past love?…
and when she heard the hollowness
in your voice during rare conversations
did she ask you what your heart was feeling
and what it whispered in silence?
or did she sing you her song
to take your mind away from
the memories which you held intensely?…
did she love you?…does she love you still?…
how did she love you?…how much did she love you?
does my love compare?
Lazy Monday
and so we talked about love
of being in love…of forever…
of faithfulness…of wanting
to be true…of going against history
and its infinite repetitions…
about dying…of separation…
of expectations…and disappointments…
of never making promises..
of leaving…of living – for the moment…
of getting old and forgetting…
of life…and dreams…and plans
for the far future and the coming weekend…
and my thoughts floated –
like bubbles out of soap recipes…
some eventually bursting…others
dissolving slowly…disappearing
into thin air…eventually forgotten
with sleep…