The black the white the gray of life

The black the white the gray of life

Monday, February 21, 2011

Drowning glory

The spring time is prolific; the gardener with her shovel works in a dry, scorching heat of the mundane. Youth wanes day after day, flowers wilt to death, slowly and steadily withering into the soil. Drowning into the humus of humongous hopes. Her mind is a wandering hermit, her hands dig deep into the soil partnering the earthworms in crime. Expectant rays of sun kiss the earth, traveling from her face to her bosom unto the just watered soil. Beads of toil drip from her forehead, as if to collect drop by drop until fortune is kind to spare time for her.
Tireless she works on, seasons wage past but her will does not succumb to minor catastrophes. Sometimes hail, sometimes storm. Sometimes jaded she rests her back against the bark of a sturdy, supportive tree. Its calm loving shade nurtures with kindness. The leaves sing her tired eyes to rest with a soothing lullaby. Not one, not two tracing branches many, the meadows change color like a chameleon. From dawn to dusk the hues twist and turn from orange to golden to mauve. As the darkness hugs tight, light melts and the wind that dried her beads of toil, leaving a cool complacent smile, betray her. They cruelly seep in from the gaps of her little straw hut, freezing her weary heart. Into nightmares she dives, fearless still, in the flood of time.
The little observant Robin Red Breast sings her a melancholic obituary. Endless, soulful stories of her drowning glory. Leaves disconnect with life, from their mother tree, as if devoid of a loving presence. They drift with the crafty wind, finally settling on the grave of her being…oh so sublime! Here today, the only place where flowers don’t wilt, no wind whines. The only sound is of her heavy breathing…a reminder of her shovel clashing against stone...digging on that one thing she saved for death after life.

Sunday, February 20, 2011


I’m falling…deep into an endless reverie. A storm my thumping, hopeful heart whirrs up. The adrenaline rushing through my veins is my only companion. The last time I climbed up a cloud, I was tempted by its height, its towering pride. I took an audacious leap, hardly knowing I will end up just hanging onto the edge of faith.
Regret I have deserted, the wind is making love to my ears. Fiercely, passion overcomes my once stagnant hormones…so submissively I grace this reverie. This memoir of a saga sought after, end after end, beginning after beginning. I close my eyes, like when pleasure inundates my heart throbbing for this escape. The wind still hasn’t had enough of me…nuzzling my ear like a pointed nose, reminding me of my love adored.
This is just foreplay, for memories are amulets, they will, they stay…warding off evil. Suddenly my spirit chimes, as it welcomes a dream divine. A reverie inside a reverie, me fluttering like a curtain at a window pane. My soul is at the bottom of this reverie, unsung, floating like piano keys. Notes of magical love embrace my soul, and I see, beside the fog unruly, I see…my soulmate, my alter ego dressed in all loyalty. We play. We toss the notes in the air, we spurt the magic of love in the caked, saline flower pots at the window pane. Giggling, in the aroma of joy we play musical chair. It’s amazing; just two souls that love has encompassed are wound yet free in this game. There is no victory, there is no defeat, and love is agile. Realization dawns upon me and I melt completely into this dream…only to believe that the charm is an endless game of musical chair, unbound by time into a life beyond life.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011


A dam burst,
Savage waters swept everything.

Dreams in a pipe,
Hopes caught in turbines,
Debris a-good-great-memory,
One thing but rose in the flood,
Of the expectations worldwide,
Caught in a whirlwind time-wind.

Making sure,
Turning sore, short spurts of desire,
How puerile, how gibberish.

The cruel water chasing sharp rocks,
Attempting to smoothen,
Not with folly pared.
Just transforming them into wizened pebbles.

In the war,
No David saves the dam,
Water against water,
Stone against stone.
Me a silent bubble,
Sailing on a sea of noise…
Squelched in no time.