Posted in Poetry, Reflections

Said A Blade Of Grass | Kahlil Gibran

Said a blade of grass to an autumn leaf, “You make such a noise falling! You scatter all my winter dreams.”

Said the leaf indignant, “Low-born and low-dwelling! Songless, peevish thing! You live not in the upper air and you cannot tell the sound of singing.”

Then the autumn leaf lay down upon the earth and slept. And when spring came she waked again — and she was a blade of grass.

And when it was autumn and her winter sleep was upon her, and above her through all the air the leaves were falling, she muttered to herself, “O these autumn leaves! They make such noise! They scatter all my winter dreams.”

~

Featuring one of my favorite poems 

Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections

Sometimes I love dramatized randomness | Wet mountains and me

Sometimes the sun dances for me on the walls
A dying cigarette wilts out grey snow in dark alleys
Plastered walls store up rains in green mosses
And out blooms a beautiful yellow flower, just for me
Sometimes the clouds embrace me in their windy arms
The street light becomes the spotlight as I dance
A puddle bows down to welcome my splashing feet
And tiny insects fight the rain just to watch me move
Sometimes I dance for nobody and yet for everybody
Out in the streets, all alone but one with the universe
I spread my arms and fill my lungs with breaths of bliss
But all you ever say is I love dramatized randomness

~

MondayMoods

Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections

Dissolving bokeh of memories | Going away, so far away

I was looking at you surprised
Like I was looking at a stranger
Who was saying to me that
He was going away, so far away
You held me in your arms
As if protecting me from reality
Or saving yourself the pain of truth
That you were soon going away, so far away
There were no tears or sweating lips
But a heaving chests and a wide eyed stare
Like you were having a panic attack
Why? Why, just before going away, so far away
What were you thinking? Why were you shaking?
You used to tremble at memories of a horrid past
But never shook before mountains you now faced
How horrid was it to you, this going away, so far away?
I could never ask and now I cannot remember either
I cannot remember the pounding heart nor the heaving chest
Where do these memories go? Where are the details?
When you kissed my forehead and went away, so far away
All there is, is a feeling suspended in a dissolving bokeh
Where we touched, is the eye, rest is now a tragic hurricane
And if I do not focus, I run the risk of being destroyed to pieces
Because the truth remains that you have gone away, so far away

~

Monday Morning Blues

Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections

Wait by the ocean, can you? | Stoned Storyteller

When I get stoned
The storyteller wakes up
She tells me all kinds of things
Takes me all kinds of places
Flying with the bees
Or rushing by galaxies
She takes me by the hand
And walks me with a story
Today she brought me to you
Just like that other day, long ago
When I responded with my usual shiver
She held on to me with her eyes of silver

He dived into this ocean
To return with a pearl of love
Worthy of your love, Worthy of my love
Don’t resent, Don’t be hurt
Don’t be afraid, Don’t wet your shirt
If he is delayed and you sit here alone
He is out in deeper waters
In darker murkier waters
Return he will, to you
Wait by the ocean, can you?

~

Monday Thursday Hues

Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections

To Fly Or Not To Fly.

I see a dream
I am in flight on my feet
Escaping, rushing – Adrenaline flowing
Sometimes looking at a cat standing guard
Outside my home, where my parents live
And sometimes I need a doctor for my sick mum
And his house is far, far away
So I rush and run or flee to warn my mum
But on the way somewhere my feet leave the ground
And then I am flying, taking elevation with every leap
Until, Until – a sword, a pang pierces me through
I am afraid
Of losing my home out of sight
Of forgetting my mum ailing in plight
And I begin descending back to home
To walking, not flying any more
To the door, to the streets with sodium lamps
Safe, Proper – Safe, Proper
To only find my parents busy in a bicker
Unaware, indifferent – to the danger lurking right out
Or to meet the streets still dark, still empty
And the doctor stilla  long way off.

~

ThursdayThoughts