of memories and reality

of memories and reality
i have plenty
locked behind a wooden door
with a missing key

memories like droplets
hanging on contorted aged twigs
mingled with the notes of a singing bird
the sleepy sky above a forgotten creek

reality is
the blades from the morning sun
will soon be consuming the comforting dews
one by one

The Letter Box

remains empty
and so much depends
on it


inspiration from The Red Wheelbarrow by William Carlos Williams

The sound of my breathing

The sound of my breathing
interrupted by the noise
of the drawn curtain

The sterile scent of the nurse
brought some comfort
to my aloneness

basil and chilli

basil and chilli

as you can see

they are bought by my wife

from a nearby nursery

in my balcony they sit

side by side

watching the world

as the clouds roll by

basil is a herb

and this fact I'm sure everybody swears

chilli is a fruit or a veg

I'm pretty sure you've never been aware

we know a nursery is a place

where they grow different types of plants

it can also be a place of fun

where they grow children, making them run under the sun

"children are plants"

this you might not know

just leave them unattended

they'll soon become weed-infested souls

inspired by the pots of basil and chilli my wife bought

if life is a window

if life is a window
i want it to face the sea
to watch the boisterous waves dancing
to the rising midnight moon

i'll draw the curtain
when the sun is over glaring
close my eyes and see the clouds evaporating
to the scorching heat at noon

dreams can sometimes reach sky high
and dash to piece unexpectedly
whenever there is a storm impending
i tell myself it will be over soon


written after reading the essay of my student

this spring

are you coming back
this spring

a friend asked

not knowing how long
the relationship would last

she held the line
i held back the reply

since daybreak

since daybreak
unremitting drizzle
has been streaking my windows

relentlessly

seamless tears meander
like delta rivers
feeding an insatiable hungry soul

obliviously

forming puddles in my mind
that takes eternity to loose
from its latent bounds


An afterthought from the book, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, a translation of the French memoir Le scaphandre et le papillon by journalist Jean-Dominique Bauby.

next to the hospital bed

when I looked out my window
I saw an old man fishing

waiting
waiting for the catch

one more minute
he told himself
one more minute

when I rolled over my pillow
I picked up the pieces of my dream

piecing
piecing the missing pieces

one more day
I told myself
one more day

when the nurse pulled the curtain
and turned off the lights

silence
accompanied the sound from the fan

one more night
she said
one more night

I closed my eyes

waiting
waiting for one more daylight

the rain, the flowers and the sun

the rain, the flowers and the sun

it waters
it blossoms
it arches across

stretching my shadow of doubt
till I no longer comprehend myself

it waters
it blossoms
it scorches

parching my scalp
till the thoughts in my mind runs dry

it floods
it withers
it rises and sets as usual
nothings has happened
but everything has changed