Getting Warmer

Am I getting warmer?
Rhetorical, philosophical,
As I examine hollow
Threads of friendships,
Frozen and colder,
Though in existence,
To pretence our souls
In believing their being,
Lifeless black holes never
To reach stars of our skies,
Forgotten to never remember–

When is it getting warmer?
Rhetorical, philosophical,
As I examine golden
Threads of friendships,
Warmer in abundance,
Floral essences as décor,
Stylists shaping them
Into hearts for many
Hugs and kisses
And the forever smiles,
Tiptoeing a poem,
To him and to her,
And again and again,
Tiptoeing a song,
To him and to her,
And again and again,
For I have found
A treasure chest,
Full of warm gems–

Is it going to get any warmer?
Rhetorical, philosophical,
As I examine diamond
Threads of friendships,
Rare garments
To wrap around,
Drums of my heart,
Lights of my mind,
Whispers of my soul,
Without them
All threads freeze
Beyond repair
As the river flows,
Indeed, unbearable,
But they are here
Here, here, here,
I built them a mansion,
An astronomical
Chamber that fits them all,
They are the best of the
Best, closer than the
Closest of all my friends.

Won’t Write Anymore

The tip of my pencil used to break
And I would sharpen it,
The ink of my pen used to dry out
And I would replace it,
The lined sheet of paper used to fill out
And I would grab some more,
But not today,
Not anymore,
Today –
The pencil is sharp,
The ink is not dry,
The lined paper is blank,
But –
Never will I scribble –
A letter,
Or a word,
Or even a sentence,
Or a mind’s paragraph,
Or a heart’s essay,
No,
Never,
The pencil is still sharp,
The ink is still not dry,
The lined paper is still blank.

The Ideal Stamp

Inscribe on it the tears of society,
To be sent on the edges of universe,
Let this stamp be on postcards,
Let it be on asylum seekers,
Put on it few symbols of life,
Water, trees, sun, or even birds,
And as for the choice of colour,
Let it shine the shades of humanity,
And remove all those numbers and currencies,
And leave but one word,
In hope that every soul whispers it,
As they stick this stamp on an envelope,
Peace!

Lifting Depression

The mist gradually enveloped my soul,
Natural cycles of life halted,
Branches of trees snapped,
Leaves on the ground hardened,
My back becomes more crooked,
To look ahead was to open wounds,
To move backwards only eased them,
But the drums of battle pierced my limbs,
I had few breaths left,
And no chance of survival,
Then a being entered my curse,
The dark mist on my soul lifted,
The waters of life returned,
Now, my branches towards the heavens elevated.

Captured Moments

A familiar face and a familiar body,
And another, a friend with another,
A moment captured like his camera,
Like at the park or this sunny arch,
Another moment of beautiful breeze,
Awaiting for the yearned reunion,
My eyes sitting on a flight of stairs,
And I blink while he produced a portfolio,
The one with another for a gallery,
And I blink with the rushing of the river,
Background noises and pigeon visits,
The dog of the homeless almost lost,
The dance of the seagulls up above,
Awaiting for the yearned reunion,
And I blink at the lady with the violin,
Solo on the cobblestones near the arch,
Random kid running away from her father,
Her contagious smile spreads all around,
And my buddy arrives followed by the others,
Many moments captured with a blink of an eye.

Take Heed

O old chief of a willow tree,
Feed your branched offspring,
Angry weeps from my wells,
Filled by forgotten headlines,
I know few facts to share,
Wounds hold us together,
Dreams lift us together.
Though wars only –
Deepen our wounds,
Shatter our dreams –
My
Form
Crumbles
O old chief of a willow tree.

Saturday, 15thof August 2015