Torn Pieces

Why when I am about finish my masterpiece
By patiently stitching back a torn portrait
One piece dear to me decides to detach?

Is this imperfect masterpiece worthwhile?
Should I throw it away and let it decompose?
Maybe then I can rework on my self-portrait?

Or maybe my energy is just better utilised
In signing songs to travel across the oceans –
Only sung to open the eyelids of free souls?

Maybe there the torn piece might value me?
Maybe then I will reunite with them again?
Yet, I wish the masterpiece finishes now.

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The Innocent Dance of N

Señorita, the wonders of artistic wisdom,
Painting her rainbow smiles to exhilarate
Pens performing ceremonial calligraphy,
She catches glimpses of a magical fortune,
To a beautiful tomorrow that she sculpts,
And a relaxing warmth that she keeps close,
Hugging her own adorable days into a portrait,
Still, even today, I see her innocent dance.

My Angelic Being

Send me towards a heavenly realm,
Where I can dance to your whispers,
Dazzle me with your celestial figure,
And stop the world beating its heart,
Always keep me by your adorable side,
And I will paint you a fabulous portrait,
Look into my eyes and let me go crazy,
Order your soul to merge into mine,
Let us sing out loud my angelic being.

Slán Abhaile

Today, I inscribe warm letters from my free soul,
For the land who speaks an ancient language,
For its people whose voices resonate within me,
For those from other lands with different tongues,
A mixture of magical luminescence living together,
In symbiotic attraction dancing along a constellation,
Governed by voluntary smiles and peaceful hugs,
Twinkling in their lovely portraits within my poetry,
And I forever remember them as I place each star
On my heart’s ceiling for guidance at each heartbeat,
Lub-dub for few tears, lub-dub for more smiles,
Lub-dub for a farewell, lub-dub for a way forward.

A Child’s Game

Raise your level of imagination,
To that of a child building those
Blocks of letters, stacking them,
With that contagious tiny smile,
He might get absorbed into the
Colours and use that to solve a
Problem that he himself might
Have created, but he will feel
A challenge with exhilarating
Rush of emotions once logical
Reasons permits him to finish,
Or he might endure one more
Rule of his own creation where
The edges of perfectly-shaped
Letter cubes should be aligned,
Or not, as it depends on his brain
Waves cooperating with his heart
To beat for a vibrant self-portrait,
Here, creativity was explored with
A bunch of wooden cubes, see,
One might disregard the details to
Conclude that it is ever so boring,
But maybe you just need to raise
Your level of imagination, and
Observe those friendly monsters
Surrounding this child to play with
Him this simple but awesome game.

Painting a Portrait

The two-dimensioned dilemma switched sides
To impersonate historical ageless Time where
At one end the black-and-white canvas would
Rotate into a pictorial film and scream aloud
Ancient symbolic letters for peace and justice.

Certainly, this era’s dogma about our truly old
Unpainted portraits revolved around ignoring
The essence of life dismissing the colossal law
Of the starry constellations among our shining
Sun, our glowing Moon, and our celestial souls.

Then the plot thickens after an innocent kid
Picks up brushes and a colour-filled palette
To openly colour its own portrait accidentally
Triggering the reversal movements of Time
As anti-clockwise severely destroys all dreams.

Albeit, the kid grows and learns to unlock
That treasure box and remove the partially
Painted canvas to tear it apart in hope that
One day Time will listen to this kid’s sorrows
Switching back to a one-dimensioned film.