Saturday, August 29, 2009
Like Water
Like into a shower, heated water running, steam rising, I step into your presence. Bare, vulnerable, ready for your words to wash over me. The heat can be unbearable, burning, I turn away, let the droplets fall along my back. The hollowness inside can only be filled by the comfort of your words, the warmth of your presence. I turn to you for solace, a sanctuary to let the world slip away, melt away the knots, the thoughts that have me frozen. Wash away the worries the fears, with you can I always stay?
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Arranged (18)
To my parents I want to go, ask if he is okay with me leaving tomorrow.
He methodically nods his head, in the motion he has enough said.
Wordless he conveys to me, what details to him are key.
I am amazed at my own understanding, of how I know without him speaking.
Maybe that is an indicative sign, that our minds have begun to align.
I am learning his motives without a word, though it seems a bit absurd.
Stop analyzing! Of a trip I start enjoying the perk, as he leaves for work.
I search and carefully compare, the various flights and their airfare.
I finally pick a reasonable flight, I am tired of staring at the screen so bright.
I am completely and utterly excited, thinking of how with my I'll be reunited.
My little sister is expecting a tiny baby, I'll follow suit...well, maybe.
I know we are expected to have children, hell, I'm sure mom expects ten.
Though as it has come increasingly near, the prospect of kids I almost fear.
A tiny life to watch and nurture, how will I know its not inadvertently torture?
Why do people assume the next step is natural, follow the lead of the corporal.
Whatever happened to using sense and logic, give a rest to the biologic?
I feel the need to think and wait, of all the repercussions first evaluate.
But I guess when we babies cute, reasoning becomes completely moot.
Watching the small bodies wriggle, a laugh, a cry, the very first giggle,
Who knows how decisions are made, they aren't based on our plans well laid.
He methodically nods his head, in the motion he has enough said.
Wordless he conveys to me, what details to him are key.
I am amazed at my own understanding, of how I know without him speaking.
Maybe that is an indicative sign, that our minds have begun to align.
I am learning his motives without a word, though it seems a bit absurd.
Stop analyzing! Of a trip I start enjoying the perk, as he leaves for work.
I search and carefully compare, the various flights and their airfare.
I finally pick a reasonable flight, I am tired of staring at the screen so bright.
I am completely and utterly excited, thinking of how with my I'll be reunited.
My little sister is expecting a tiny baby, I'll follow suit...well, maybe.
I know we are expected to have children, hell, I'm sure mom expects ten.
Though as it has come increasingly near, the prospect of kids I almost fear.
A tiny life to watch and nurture, how will I know its not inadvertently torture?
Why do people assume the next step is natural, follow the lead of the corporal.
Whatever happened to using sense and logic, give a rest to the biologic?
I feel the need to think and wait, of all the repercussions first evaluate.
But I guess when we babies cute, reasoning becomes completely moot.
Watching the small bodies wriggle, a laugh, a cry, the very first giggle,
Who knows how decisions are made, they aren't based on our plans well laid.
Monday, August 03, 2009
Losing Life
I have come to the realization that life is loss because as we live, we lose things. We lose people, money, dreams, hopes, ideals and with it we lose ourselves - bit by bit, day by day, just as we lose life, one day at a time. So, for everything I've lost, everything you've lost and everything we will inevitably lose:
Inna lillahi wa inna illayhi rajioon
Inna lillahi wa inna illayhi rajioon
Monday, July 20, 2009
Louisa & Marie (8)
Louisa
Returning home from the store, Louisa considers her purchases. She hates how she always second guesses herself, why can't her confidence be unwavering? Why can't she have the kind of air about her the elevator woman does? She imagines her couch, the new afghan and the coasters. She shakes her head to dispel the thoughts and clear her mind. She will just arrange the new items once she makes it back and then assess. She turns on the radio and starts scanning the channels in an effort to distract herself. She shakes her head at disgust at what is playing. She doesn't understand the trash that is constantly being streamed. Whatever happened to music that went with the lyrics? Instead of soothing her, the radio aggravates her even more. She turns it off and decides to continue in silence.
Marie
"Marie, is that you" a faint voice calls and Maureen pauses with Laila's story. Marie saddens at the frailty of her mother's voice and she feels guilty for not visiting more often. Most of her wants to bolt out of that house and back to her solitary apartment, but she sits there glued. "Yes, it is Marie," Maureen calls out to her sister. She pulls Marie up by the arm and leads her to the bedroom. Gaining her composure, Marie walks into her mother's bedroom. She still doesn't understand how the woman can handle the sterile decor and dim lights. When life is as rude to one as it was to Barbara, maybe a bleached existence is relief.
"Well, I'm glad you remembered me," Barbara half taunts Marie. Impressed at her mother's cattiness, even in her state, Marie is comforted. She knows her mother is well; the day Barbara loses her fiest, Marie knows it is time to worry. Still, the woman is slow and barely present. "Hi mom. Of course I remember you. I just...get busy with work." "Yes dear, I know you work a lot, though you must admit, it can be too much." Why oh why was her mother right. "Yes mom," she concedes and sits on the bed next to her mother. She knows she loves her mother, but she reminds her of a life, of a time Marie wants to leave behind for good. She wants to let go off the past and move on, but she hasn't quite figured out how to leave it behind without leaving her mother, aunt and cousins. Of course she will not stop supporting them, but seeing them makes her relive it. After all these years, she is weary of reliving it, almost too tired to continue.
Marie realizes her mother has been talking to her about who knows what as she was sitting in her own thoughts. Her mother has become more aware and alive just recounting her days. Marie realizes she should come by more often and makes a silent resolve to do so.
Louisa
Back to her new place and with the new possessions lugged into her living space, Louisa's exhaustion catches up to her. Leaving things strewn about, she heads into her kitchen. She puts together a quick sandwich and eats it walking into her room. Changes and falls into bed; too tired to brush her teeth or wash her face, she closes her eyes. Her mind replays the first day of work begins all over again. Slowly, she drifts off into a restless sleep.
Returning home from the store, Louisa considers her purchases. She hates how she always second guesses herself, why can't her confidence be unwavering? Why can't she have the kind of air about her the elevator woman does? She imagines her couch, the new afghan and the coasters. She shakes her head to dispel the thoughts and clear her mind. She will just arrange the new items once she makes it back and then assess. She turns on the radio and starts scanning the channels in an effort to distract herself. She shakes her head at disgust at what is playing. She doesn't understand the trash that is constantly being streamed. Whatever happened to music that went with the lyrics? Instead of soothing her, the radio aggravates her even more. She turns it off and decides to continue in silence.
Marie
"Marie, is that you" a faint voice calls and Maureen pauses with Laila's story. Marie saddens at the frailty of her mother's voice and she feels guilty for not visiting more often. Most of her wants to bolt out of that house and back to her solitary apartment, but she sits there glued. "Yes, it is Marie," Maureen calls out to her sister. She pulls Marie up by the arm and leads her to the bedroom. Gaining her composure, Marie walks into her mother's bedroom. She still doesn't understand how the woman can handle the sterile decor and dim lights. When life is as rude to one as it was to Barbara, maybe a bleached existence is relief.
"Well, I'm glad you remembered me," Barbara half taunts Marie. Impressed at her mother's cattiness, even in her state, Marie is comforted. She knows her mother is well; the day Barbara loses her fiest, Marie knows it is time to worry. Still, the woman is slow and barely present. "Hi mom. Of course I remember you. I just...get busy with work." "Yes dear, I know you work a lot, though you must admit, it can be too much." Why oh why was her mother right. "Yes mom," she concedes and sits on the bed next to her mother. She knows she loves her mother, but she reminds her of a life, of a time Marie wants to leave behind for good. She wants to let go off the past and move on, but she hasn't quite figured out how to leave it behind without leaving her mother, aunt and cousins. Of course she will not stop supporting them, but seeing them makes her relive it. After all these years, she is weary of reliving it, almost too tired to continue.
Marie realizes her mother has been talking to her about who knows what as she was sitting in her own thoughts. Her mother has become more aware and alive just recounting her days. Marie realizes she should come by more often and makes a silent resolve to do so.
Louisa
Back to her new place and with the new possessions lugged into her living space, Louisa's exhaustion catches up to her. Leaving things strewn about, she heads into her kitchen. She puts together a quick sandwich and eats it walking into her room. Changes and falls into bed; too tired to brush her teeth or wash her face, she closes her eyes. Her mind replays the first day of work begins all over again. Slowly, she drifts off into a restless sleep.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Boundless
The walls, the barriers, the hurdles - they all line up and stand in the way. Not even challenging, blatantly they say: "This is where you stop, in your place you must stay."
I refuse!!
Rip 'um down, each and every one. Acid away all the scum. Turn a heel and march to the tune of another drum. Look at you in the face, say you must learn your place, after crazy ambitions do not chase, stay confined to the circular rat race.
I refuse!!
Break away the tethering bind, toil away and return to the grind. Though they may stand, neatly lined. Always taunting and blocking, with looks and words mocking; creating waves to set the ship rocking.
Turn and solidly deliver my "NO." knock each down with a thunderous blow, one at a time, all in a row. All of them I will show. Though for a while, one may lie low. That I was meant for more, I will always know.
I refuse!!
Rip 'um down, each and every one. Acid away all the scum. Turn a heel and march to the tune of another drum. Look at you in the face, say you must learn your place, after crazy ambitions do not chase, stay confined to the circular rat race.
I refuse!!
Break away the tethering bind, toil away and return to the grind. Though they may stand, neatly lined. Always taunting and blocking, with looks and words mocking; creating waves to set the ship rocking.
Turn and solidly deliver my "NO." knock each down with a thunderous blow, one at a time, all in a row. All of them I will show. Though for a while, one may lie low. That I was meant for more, I will always know.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
You and I
You and I, we are like the Phoenix - made to burn and expire, writhe in pain and desire, to extinguish and ignite again. Branded with scars we are drawn to the flame, with a yearning we cannot tame.
You and I, we are like a mime - invisibly caged in a box of our own construction, following the same script. We mark the passing of each lifetime, with the photos and memories we box away and those we've ripped.
You and I, we are like the Phoenix - we live through what kills us, take it without making a fuss because we know we will rise again. We've learned to play by the rules of the game; in loops around and around the chain.
You and I, we are like a mime - paint our faces to act the part, through the motions from beginning to start. We put away the costumes in a catalog, maybe one day we can use them to clear out the fog.
You and I, we are like the Phoenix - of what is to be we have no control, the only things we consistently keep is our soul. Live to dream and bloom and one day scream when the fire does consume.
You and I, we are like a mime - invisibly caged in a box of our own construction, following the same script. We mark the passing of each lifetime, with the photos and memories we box away and those we've ripped.
You and I, we are like the Phoenix - we live through what kills us, take it without making a fuss because we know we will rise again. We've learned to play by the rules of the game; in loops around and around the chain.
You and I, we are like a mime - paint our faces to act the part, through the motions from beginning to start. We put away the costumes in a catalog, maybe one day we can use them to clear out the fog.
You and I, we are like the Phoenix - of what is to be we have no control, the only things we consistently keep is our soul. Live to dream and bloom and one day scream when the fire does consume.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Voices
I know the cadence of the ones I used to know. The rhythm, the syntax, the expressions with which they would follow. I can trace the threads of my life on those chords. Rainbow collections of many words. Replay the volumes of reels and remember how it makes one feel. The joys, the cries, the failed tries. Finish and put them in their places away. Sad as so many I have lost, wondering why they could not stay.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
Just Smile
He looked around the room and watched his new colleagues. Orientations always bothered him, the droning lectures, forced socialization, plastered grins on the HR staff's faces. The whole thing reminds him of a bad murder play, when someone is going to be killed and everyone in the audience knows, but the character is an idiot and doesn't realize that everything is fishy. That is how he feels. Sitting, papers on his desk, head facing the projector screen, he is waiting. Waiting for a hand to shoot out of his desk, for chains to strap his arms, a bag over his head - something. At this point, he just wanted it to happen, he was tired of waiting and was ready for whatever it was.
SIR! He jolted and looked at the source of the voice. He noticed the room was empty and the lights were back on. He grabbed his things and got up to leave. The girl was still looking at him; as he walked out, there was nothing he could really do, just smile.
SIR! He jolted and looked at the source of the voice. He noticed the room was empty and the lights were back on. He grabbed his things and got up to leave. The girl was still looking at him; as he walked out, there was nothing he could really do, just smile.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Dropped
Oh the confusion caused by my mind's many delusions. Why can rationality be easily dropped like a dew from a leaf. The weight of of the waves, slipping of the edge and I stand here on my precarious ledge. Longing to jump though I see no bottom, while my feet pull the other way and hesitantly my hips follow with their gentle sway. Screaming and fighting within at receiving release, to being unshackled akin. Everything is ablaze, still cannot avert my gaze. As I get further away capture what only I can see, walk with eyes closed to keep that image of what never can be.
Friday, April 17, 2009
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