Sunday, May 10, 2020

Sweet Rain

Solitary Tree Stands Firmly In A Foggy Field After An Early Evening Rain Shower - Square Photograph by Angela Rath

Sweet rain,
Sour rain,
Bitter rain,
You came like
the first rain in October
falling quietly upon garden of words,
leaving traces behind for me to follow.
Will I ever get to you?

So I followed
a path to a place
where rain never seemed to cease.
I walked,
and I walked,
and I walked,
and I fell
in the abyss of solitude,
drowned in a longing
of a voice that sounded
like joy and tears.
And it was the most beautiful voice
for loneliness dissipated, when rain fell and called my name.

Sweet rain,
Sour rain,
Bitter rain,
Everytime I wake up
I pray it will be rain
So I know,
I am not alone
And wherever I am,
you are here with me.

Monday, September 16, 2019

Sunflower

Related image

For Vincent


You took one step forward and tell me
you planted all the secrets deep in the soil
 “van Gogh would’ve known,” you said.
With warmth on your smile you took a step
backward and let me tend it
wounds you would not let anyone peek
I guarded it as if it was mine to keep
precious, vulnerable
hoping someday it will grow and grow
to be the love of a lifetime

Spring came but it never bloomed
the roots hardened
the branches broke
and cracks appeared like terrible veins
on my wrist
I watered and watered with nothing but
teardrops and agony
But it died leaving no whisper
nor love
And I do realize
van Gogh would have known
for it was selfish lies you buried underneath



Love, May & November

Wednesday, July 10, 2019

Monday, July 8, 2019

Memoir of Love



It wasn’t Love at the first sight
It surely wasn’t.
For we left our drinks and fries
to the cold summer night
waiting for Time to save us
from the awkwardness of life
How did we meet
and not fall in love with words again?
I imagined every Love began with ballroom dance and magic pumpkin
and ended with a ballad and a touch to the lips.
I must have mistaken.

It wasn’t Love at the second sight
It surely wasn’t.
The day we were standing in front of a grave
of someone who was brave and loved,
of someone who asked us:
“Did speaking in silence
and kissing each other’s tears
finally mean something?”
our shadows were busy playing hide and seek
and chasing footsteps of ghosts
and questions we were afraid to face.
We went home
full of remorse
then promised to write each other letters tomorrow
but tomorrow never came.

It wasn’t Love at the third sight
It surely wasn’t.
As our feet walked past the coast,
with stillness echoing behind,
we found ourselves softly muttering:
“Were we too in love with Pride and not with Love itself?”
So, for the first time in our life, drop the mask,
hold my hand and slow dance to the fire.
Let the masquerade burn and
bury me where Dante abandoned his dreams.
The Devil wouldn’t mind,
knowing Love came without pretense
and mended a hole in his soul.

It wasn’t Love at the fourth sight
or fifth, or sixth, or seventh,
or more.
But I did find Love
in these dark times,
in this prayer,
not in you nor me
but just in this little space between us.

I surely did.
For Love is not found in impermanence,
but in a place where infinite transcends.

Wednesday, June 12, 2019

The Short-Haired Girl




I keep thinking of the short-haired girl
Who fell out love with words
Who spent her time asking “what are dreams made of?”
Who made a secret deal with The Devil
And married Death.

I keep thinking of the short-haired girl.
Someone Aphrodite would kiss
Someone Scott Fitzgerald would fall for
“Eyes like emerald,” he would say
Eyes only Selene would have
Eyes that petrify sin and judge mankind in her sleep
To-morrow or to-day

I keep thinking of the short-haired girl
Whose tears fall from the brimming ache
As the angels fell from Heaven
Grace, fidelity
“I’m running from a nightmare to another,” she would cry
But what was she looking for?
A lullaby?
Or someone to lay her head on?
Between the stars she would sit
To rule love like Lilith
But the stars were shining a little too late
Now she hates a little too great

I keep thinking of the short-haired girl
Who I care and I hold dear.
Even if silence is too deafening
And love won’t reach her arms
I will love the short-haired girl
Until the birds swim
And the foxes dance like lovers.

Saturday, April 20, 2019

Love Story of The Spring




My delusion angel,
My fantasy parade,
can you see with those brown eyes?

The sun and the moon, down the silver sky
Wandering through the mist, searching for a kiss
There, in the city of nobody,
in the crossing
of dreams,
of hopes,
of lust,
of despair;
their eyes,
their secrets,
their softness of flesh,
indignity and harmony,
found each other.

How fate is as beautiful as the Spring
And Spring is wholly you

Now the clocks whir and chime.
And the birds start chirping.
And the rain starts singing
And the first flower in the world begins to bloom.

Oh, my dear my angel,
can you see it?
Can you see it already?

For life is a blessing,
and love has no endings.