I didn’t realize
What I had said until it was said
Until I saw the shock in your eyes
The pain in your words
The hurt in your voice
If I could take it back
If I could reverse time
If I could unsay thoughtless words
If I could think before I speak
If I could do all those things
I would do it
Delicate dreams
Fragile and free
Float on air
In their vulnerability
And when all is quiet
I realize
All I’ve ever done
Is blow empty bubbles
To no one there
Memories in my mind
Question their being
Beg me to share
The brief moment
They were
Briefly and fleetingly
Created with care
And lasted but
A few blinks only
Of the eternal prayer
Like wind in the trees
Vapor in air
Subtle lingering scent
And as soon as they lived
As quickly they died
She decided to be daring, and invited him to share a cab ride home. The evening had been fun, it was late, and they lived nearby. It wasn’t difficult for him to agree. Both seated in the back, she asked if he was relaxed. Very relaxed, he replied. She smiled.
For so long she held out for a glimpse. Finally, there he was. Crossing the road, he quickly disappeared. Away from her. Perhaps in time they may meet again. Perhaps then she will have the right words. Perhaps then she will have broken through herself. Perhaps then she won’t care.
Value each day
Each moment
Each breath
For one day
The last dawn will rise
All the moments will have passed
And your breath will be no more.
My firstborn was a boy. And I knew it. From the way he fed, and the way he cried. He would pull at my breasts, yank and tug, because he was a boy and he was Hungry. When my daughter came along, she was the most graceful little thing. Her hands and fingers were so dainty, and when it was time to feed she was so polite. Very soft and graceful. At night she would just softly murmur if she wanted to feed. Instead of yelling the house down and waking up the whole neighborhood. I would lift her from the cot beside my bed and we would lie together. Her hands still have a beautiful gracefulness about them. Sometimes I plead with her, please brush my hair and if she is feeling generous she will softly brush my hair and braid or tie it up. It is a magical feeling for me – the touch of her gentle delicate hands.
I have an RBF. Apparently. Resting bitch face. I remember reading an article once on the every day lives of men and women. Women are expected to smile more and look pleasant. I have observed this in the workplace too. If a woman doesn’t smile often she is deemed miserable. But the same does not apply to her male colleagues. I have never been able to wear a facade. If I’m happy,I look happy. If I’m sad, I look sad. Stressed, looked stressed. Etc. My RBF doesn’t help though. Sometimes I am feeling just fine, but because I’m not smiling, I have a demeanor that may keep others at a distance. I don’t mean to though!
Here’s me looking happy 🙂
I disagree with anyone who says licorice tastes good. Because licorice does not taste good. There is no part of licorice that tastes good. In any shape, size or form. I haven’t yet figured out why licorice is actually produced in the first place. And why anyone would want to eat it? It doesn’t look good or appetizing either, resembling something like a car tyre. And who wants to eat their car tyre? So where would the appeal even lie?
My current pile of unfinished books consists of a Dale Carnegie classic “How to Stop Worrying and Start Living”, a Rumi poetry book gifted to me by my beautiful friend nia, and below that “All the Light We Cannot See” by Anthony Doerr. Non-fiction, poetry and fiction all stacked in a pile next to my bed. Happiness is…
Poems and Petals 