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…

Hearts and Autumn

autumn comes around slowly…
like an old friend walking at
a leisurely pace towards
an appointed time and place
where company awaits
his return from his year-long retreat…
and the Maple, Oak and Elm
welcome him by their abscission…
shedding their leaves
for the autumn breeze
to blow them away…
just like hearts – returning –
finding respite on quiet nights
when all of its loneliness and pain,
and unfulfilled wishes and dreams…
and some rare moments of happiness
are whispered to the night breeze
in silence…in secret…in hopes
that a murmuration of starlings
or perhaps a gulp of swallows will
carry them away in their flight…

One True Love

there are days when i wonder
whether you sang her songs
or whether you asked her
to dance with you out of the blue…
allowing her head to rest –
gently on your shoulder while
holding her in your arms and
swaying her to silent music…
sometimes when all the world
lays quietly with you in your slumber
i wonder whether she loved you
or just wanted you for company
and whether you loved her
like you used to love me…whether
you told her you loved her as frequently
as you whisepered them to me…
and when i lie beside you
quietly holding on to this love,
my heart whispers to yours:
“yes, I love you…and i loved you
even when you broke my heart…
i loved you then…
with all my broken pieces…”

Ink and Poetry

and so the ink flowed
from needle to skin…
tracing the outlines of
the stenciled flash…
my skin – the artist’s canvas;
the needle gun – his paintbrush…
and like Picasso, every drop
of ink in his strokes
pigments the canvas…slowly
completing the flash that was
once only a concept – a vision
in my mind…
and the pain which comes
with this artwork is a commitment…
i am marked forever…
and like a river, the ink
runs through my veins
mingling with love and poetry…