Sun dips toes in horizon.
Sleepy stars call for embrace
Crying dewey tears.
Authur’s note: Haiku is a form of short poetry originally from Japan. Traditional Japanese haiku consist of three phrases in a 5, 7, 5 pattern (5,7,5 syllables or words in English), and a seasonal reference.
You told me it was in my best interest–
the yelling, the barely restrained anger.
Then,
You told me it was all my fault–
the yelling, the unrestrained anger.
Now,
You tell me I deserve it–
before all hell breaks loose
everyday…
Sun
kisses
the ground but
winter reigns my
heart.
Storm
rocks my
paper ship–
drenched, not drowned–
ever.
Author’s note: Lantern is a type of descriptive poetry from Japan that follows the syllable structure of one, two, three, four and one syllables per line to shape a lantern when the words are centered to middle.
Night spreads its limbs afar.
Sea of darkness looks back at me.
In prayers, I find the Sun.
Sea roars, gulls repeat,
I look in the sands of time,
I know not what until I find—
Me…
Photo by Ben White on Unsplash
The world ends when I end…
I am the sun, the moon, the stars.
I am the rains and starving winters.
I am the ground upon which all I know stands.
When I go, the world as I know it goes with me.
When I am not, none of this will be.
In reaction to Colin McQueens’s latest ‘discussion’
Something was off.
I could feel it from the moment you walked in our room
on our honeymoon–
something amiss in your face, your eyes, your smile–
something vital.
I spent the night awake, wondering what it was
and why it mattered.
Every time I thought of you,
I felt it.
Every time you were around me,
I couldn’t find it.
I wondered what was amiss,
and why it mattered enough to give me sleepless nights.
Years later, I found it
in the eyes of another man.
It was Love.
I haven’t a porch to watch the rain.
Rain seeps in through the roof.
Who am I to complain?
Waiting at the bus stop,
Rain drops pelting from mid night sky,
Drenching bags, veiling the tears.
I heard a melodic voice out of my window
I thought, “Ah! A tiny sunbird for sure…”
Excitedly, I looked out and…
…found a hawk!
I thought of the eagle
living across the road–
musical voice,
shrill only at times of hunt.
The little harmless mynas, babblers and crows however, are rather a raucous crowd. They shout and squawk at the top of their voice.
All of a sudden, I realised what it is.
I am biased…
biased against people who are loud…
loud because they speak their heart…
loud because they don’t mask their intentions beneath many layers of honey…
loud because they don’t have anything to hide…
loud because they don’t prowl…
I an being a society snob,
who considers loud as crass
and duping others an art…
Don’t
cast me
in a role
that I can’t, for
ever.
I hold the phone
hoping you’ll pick up;
hoping you wouldn’t;
hoping you’ll recognise the number;
hoping you wouldn’t;
wondering how you could forget the number
when I couldn’t…
I hold the phone
hoping you’re awake;
hoping you’re asleep;
wondering how you could,
when I couldn’t…
I hold the phone wondering
if you have company
and who could she be;
fuming, how you could
when I couldn’t…
Raging, I throw the phone
at the wall
breaking it into pieces
like me…
Still wishing,
you had taken that call…
The car glides on the smooth mountain road,
making the turn barely in time
to watch a herd of deer
run through the grassy meadow
that rises up on the far side.
The air is filled with the sweet fragrance
of fresh grass and pine.
I’ve been here too many times
on this mountain road
to watch this herd of deer
and smell the air
that fills me of longing for more.
Yet I don’t know where…
I’ve never been here…
Not even today…
Photo by Murat Gün on Unsplash
You stand with your family
looking at me with eyes full of hate–
angry at god-knows-what
since god-knows-when–
glaring at the lawyer, the clerk, the judge,
your mortal enemies without a grudge.
You shift the glare
to burn a hole through my heart.
Startled, I glance back without anger,
only deep loss at the part
where the last thing we ever share
is the papers you hand over
to set us both apart.
Taking steps one at a time,
Lost in a haze of images–
Too slow to look at,
Too fast to understand,
Backwards in the good times we had,
Fast forward in the non-existent future.
Voices of friends
a blur of background noises–
Too high to like,
Too low to register,
Numb to all pain–
Too numb to be alive,
Too dead to be breathing,
Still existing
In a world without you…
Image by Jr Korpa on Unsplash
All day, I wait for the night to return
When her long fingers caress me
And light the very fabric of my being.
Her silhouette in the dark room’s door
is the fire to my core.
I watch her every move
as she lies down next to me
with a sigh,
Her dreamy eyes closed to the world,
she smiles.
I sigh too, knowing too well,
My heart would never get over her,
No matter how many years go by.
Of course, she doesn’t understand
how I feel because, for her,
I’m just a night stand.
Rising on my toes,
I yearned to touch the moon
and kept falling back
in the ocean all night.
But I managed to make waves,
didn’t I?
Free image by Navi Photography on Unsplash
Air tastes of early spring,
With best Valentine gift ever—
“I’ll do the laundry. Forever.”
Still waiting when everybody’s gone
not able to step out
in the bright sunshine
that’d kill all hope.
Still waiting for you to call
and beg me to return,
knowing all too well
you would never
love me enough…
Free photo by Antoine Boissonot on Unsplash
Short Stories | Fish-eye Perspective 