Colors and Tastes.
I could sense the dust sting my face as it flew to me. I could feel the hotness of the sun bearing on my head, sweat trickling down my back and neck. I could taste the dirt in my mouth. Just dirt. Nothing else.
What kind of child desires the desert like it was Paris or London? What kind of child craves for the heat and the dirt? I missed the place where dirt stuck to you like flies to honey.
Possibly it wasn’t a good comparison but I had no photos of Mexico. But I felt that Egypt was the best substitute for it. I could remember the weather and it closely matched a documentary of the Desert. I didn’t care which desert as long as it was a desert.
Now whenever I think of the wastelands, I think of those times I would draw yellow on my paper and call it art. Where I would imagine I was finding another pyramid with new knowledge about how early humans used to live. I think of the times I would play Indiana Jones with my cousins and pretend we were treking across the yellow earth for treasure.
The Lake
I've never truly seen
the lake with waters
of turquoise-green.
I probably never will
find this ocean within
a small space. just like
the lines of this poem.
the lake with flowers
of the color pink and
cherries with the pits
still inside. Now that!
that is the place where
I want to be, for now
and all of my eternity.
Lavender
If you ask me about my favourite flower I will say "lavender" as an answer.
I've never seen a lavender garden I don't even know what it smells like
But somehow it's my bias
Just because I had this dream
Where you were in a white dress,
Cowboy hat, looked like a country girl
In the field of purple flowers.
P.S. here I and You both symbolises me alone.
The Grass is Greener
Whenever I close my eyes, I see the bright lands of Ireland. I feel a longing to be there, to lay in the grass and swim in the sea. I long to walk where my ancestors did and to breath the fresh air.
I wonder what it would have been like to be Irish like my ancestors. What I would have felt walking down the seabank, staring at the crystal waters shining back at me. What I would have experienced seeing great green fields instead of dull grey lots filled with smoke and blood.
I see the smoke from giant machines of profit and think about white clouds lazily flying by a clear sky. I see waters clogged with black poison and dream of a crystal clear sea.
I'm most likely overestimating Ireland and it's many beauties. After all, the grass is always greener somewhere else.
