The Pond part-2 [Audio Poem]

An unexpected visitor

The bird that sat on her window, it looked familiar as if it belonged to a different place

She can see that the city was not his place

Maybe he followed her train to where the trees don’t grow

Where the cars’ noises block the voices in her head

She can no longer hear her best friend—the inspiration

Looking out of her cold studio apartment’s window, she can’t see the stars

Her lover’s words resonate in her ears, he was right—she misses counting the bright pins in the sky

That yellow cheerful bird’s singing covered all the other noises around her

She wondered if he had been a messenger, if he carried a letter from The Pond for her

Although her apartment stood high above the man-made trails beneath

It was no match to the mountain she used to live on,

The broken kitchen counters that he’d promised to fix,

The cotton filled pillows, the wooden chair he proudly carved.

She closes her eyes humming with the bird, harmonies she once knew so well

She can smell it, the pond’s stench—what she hated and loved so much

But it escapes her before she can capture it; she wished to paint it on her pale grey wall

The memories were too old, and the paint has run dry.

Pieces

We were pieces

Broken apart…

Continue reading “Pieces”

Childhood Mornings

I remember when I was maybe eleven.I had to wake up as early as seven, rush to the neighborhood baker. He made our street smelled like heaven. The fresh bread gives me warmth on my morning walk. And a lady sitting in the street, selling something to eat. Breakfast routine that I love to remember. Memories of early December.

Masks

She worries they won’t like her if she was to change

He worries she won’t like him, if he stays the same

Continue reading “Masks”

The History Game

You seem so sure

That there’s nothing you can do

That the stars’ position

Tell you visions that are true

You seem so sure of how unsure our future is

Of how we’ll fight in a war that no one wins

And although we know

We still try

Oh history why 

Why do you keep playing this game with me

Strange Things

Let us fall

Although children we may no longer be

In this skin torn, old, and wrinkly

We begin

Again and again

Like the seeds falling from a tree

Birthed from death

Oh what a strange thing to see

My drifting soul becoming me

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Amazing teacher and writer

The Will (Self-Discipline) – http://wp.me/p7ncYE-1w

Little Boat

I birthed it,

The story that I wrote

Out of a dream I had

Of me laying on a little boat

Soon I woke with vague memory

Thoughts I could not define

What was I doing on a boat on that dream of mine

Truth

I think it was lost

But no one really knew

So no one ever searched

For what can’t be proved

Numbers and charts that say nothing at all

Misleading us to think that the truth isn’t far

It was written somewhere, but where… I forget

The bible must’ve had it, but it failed to translate