A Thousand

A thousand books to read,
the immortal classics,
how  society behaves on different stimuli feed
and the unending attempts of novels in defining love.

A thousand places to go see,
where Oscar Wilde grew,
where waves dance in the Caribbean Sea,
and where dust from the iconics were left on Abbey Road.

A thousand tastes to let linger,
of which honeybees made,
meat bursting with sapid ginger,
and velvety cupcakes I wouldn’t be too happy to fork through.

A thousand thoughts to write,
of what-if love stories,
silvering the mundane and the trite,
just stroking out the heart pulses on pads or paper.

A thousand reasons to skip sleep,
for the world is simply brimming
and start ups keep being nipped.
Oh, how sweet it would be if we could just do more.

*Written for the Magpie Tales

A Lover’s Salty Plee

La Jument, photo by Jean Guichard

The last memory I had was being on a boat sailing on a lovely canal,

with Christmas lights wrapped around the wooden rows.

I had to securely tape the power supply I made specially for this night.

I owe you one. I owe you this. You and me, just letting things be. 

The next thing I knew is that we’re in the middle of this angry ocean,

beating us like we spilled oil in one of its waters.

No boat was anchored meters away.

No airplanes that I hear of. How did we get here, my love?

If not for this rocky fortress, I would assume we were doomed —

Lungs filled with saltwater, our struggles we would eternally curse.

Remember though that for as long as we breathe the same salty air,

No wave is a maverick — ’cause we’d surf over them.

Tomorrow might be a nightmare. A future with a sink hole.

A Yolanda fiercer than ever. An oceanic beast.

Invincible, we may not be, but let our love shine to the Almighty

that He’ll calm all storms and let us be in paradise.

Magpie Modays: A Couch Too Big for One {Re-Post}

A Couch Too Big for One

The dame has been in this scenario for quite some time,

quite forlorn,

unbounded freedom,

mostly unaccompanied.

 

The space seems too vast for her fragility,

it eats her up,

too vexing,

breeds out a deafening monotony.

 

Casually, someone would sit for tea,

and she smiles,

elevated happiness,

and temporary highs.

 

In her mind, she grips his wrist,

tightly,

forcefully,

lovingly.

 

But, she snaps back to reality,

he went

and sat

on another red couch.

 

And she casually brushed her way to the couch’s middle,

sipped her tea,

inhaled deeply,

and bit her tea-stained lip.

 

Written for: The Magpie Tales

Magpie Mondays: 42 Teacups

42 Teacups

Those moments before dusk,

when the full moon is clearly revealing herself,

I host a tea party.

In the middle of the bloomfields,

where wilted flowers, tied with brown laces

still stood upright to join us.

The three ladies of Grace Adieu —

Cassandra, Miss Tobias and  Mrs Field,

as far away as they could.

From Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell,

who were intently discussing some magic tricks,

which they would work on afterwards.

Miranda, feels the pile of flax

with her weak, little hands.

She sits near the middle, five empty pie plates beside her.

I guess even the ants would waver

to the sweetness at the sight of

Venetia and Captain Fox, who are madly in love as ever.

When everybody has finished their tea

down to the last drop,

they all left without a word.

And I poured the dainty cream pot over.

I stirred and sipped,

Sipped and stirred again.

*Inspired by the Magpie Tales.

 

The fictional characters that I had tea with are from Susanna Clarke’s The Ladies of Grace Adieu and other stories.

Magpie Mondays: She stopped

photo by Elena Kalis

I stopped using only half of my heart.

I learned it would only give you nothing,

leaving you in between,

in turmoil, dazed, confused, forever in dawning.

 

I stopped carrying heavy loads,

I learned it would only bring you down,

withdrawn from the world,

unfazed, oblivious with a frown.

 

I stopped listing at some point,

I learned it wouldn’t get you anywhere,

goal-driven, yet no action,

slacking, stuck in midair.

*Written for the Magpie Tales.

Magpie Mondays: Let Fear Not Be

painting by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

 

She knows no one in the bar; she just wanted to do something radical

and so, she danced with no music as if there was

and smiled to people staring as if she knew them.

Pretty soon, the band started playing offbeat melodies

and the crowd marched for the dance floor to join her.

— for life wasn’t given to us just so we could breathe. We were destined to live boldly.

 

She was created when the universe exploded and hence,

star dust must be in her bones.

She allows her star to shine its brightest white.

Her starlight beams upon me

Her stars dangles with mine.

— She is me, and I, her.

Magpie Mondays: Dream Balloons and Lane-Free Pathways

Apprehensions, move out of the way.

Fear, you can wait, but you can only in vain.

Because I’ll be driving on a lane-free path today.

Discernment has gotten the better of me.

In my boat shoes, I would fly over the waters.

Because I’ll be driving on a lane-free path today.

I’ll kiss all my doubts goodbye out of my car window,

as the image of my comfort zone shrinks on my rear-view mirror

Because I’ll be driving on a lane-free path today.

** Written for The Magpie Tales

Magpie Mondays: A Disguised Blessing

photo by Agustin Berrocal

 

The old, cranky lawyer had knocked on his door,

the will, the testament of his half-brother has been probated.

Luxury cars and the Caribbean was on his mind,

Resigned he did from his current job,

for he believed a thousand bucks would be a penny after this day.

So off he drove to his brother’s mansion,

with the old, cranky lawyer as his companion.

He was led to this half-opened elegantly furnished door,

from the edges of which golden beams escaped.

He couldn’t contain the excitement that his heart carries

and rushed towards the light source.

He grabbed one egg and felt that something is quite not right.

The egg had little craters and weren’t fragile at all.

The old, cranky lawyer whispered,

“He said you loved french fries,” and he walked snickering,

“Don’t count your golden eggs before they hatch, my boy for they might not be eggs at all.”

 

**Written for the Magpie Tales

Magpie Mondays: Awakening the Goddess of Liberty in Me

Few minutes before one,

I walked out of that chapel.

Carefully choosing my path

on the dampen soil,

the heavy out pour is to blame.

I believed foreign words earlier

have flown out of my mouth,

barely touching my chapped lips.

My tongue has been possessed,

though it was just me who heard me.

I have been awaken, on a flying stance.

Equipped with discernment.

Blessed with knowledge and wisdom.

Hoping to heal others,

in little ways that I can.

 

**Written for the  Magpie Tales

A House Party on June

Stanley Kubrick for Look Magazine, 1949

I still remembered that one fateful June night.

Raindrops pouring, you and me under my umbrella.

Tagging along the sidewalks, skipping over water puddles,

making our way to this local bar that we made our weekend nights getaway station.

 

I still remembered that instant connection we had.

Holding each other hands as if we have done that naturally in the past,

the outright kissing in front of our friends,

the right-then-and-there confession in your room, on your bed.

 

I still remembered the night outs that followed the first,

the solo slow dancing in the middle of the dancefloor,

the scent of your skin and the softness of your palms,

and the lines that formed on the sides of your eyes when you laugh.

 

I still remembered the mornings after,

you lying next to me, reeking of alcohol and perfume.

Oh how sweet it is to just lie and sleep by your side

after going home, tired of dancing at 3 AM.

 

I still remembered the spark that we had

when we’re still living in that spark we have.

And for all that you’ve done for me,

I would even be the one to light up your cigarette for you.

 

**Written for The Magpie Tales