They are mostly gray

sometimes speckled with disease

their bodies are knotted with age

yet support myriad arms, fingers

an intricate web of lace

wooden tendrils curling

in exquisite geometric patterns

reaching towards the sky

often made more beautiful

by snow or ice -

nature’s art

if only

you

look.

Unsolved math problems,

And scribbled phone numbers without names,

At one side an unclear idea,

And at the corners few torn piece.

Somewhere a beautiful cursive,

Elsewhere a shabby scribble,

Of famous names and impossible dreams,

All depending on that moment’s state.

There’s no liberty as else,

It’s the only freedom page,

Holding many information usable & waste,

Creating a artistic colourful maze.

It’s a beauty under appreciated by teachers,

If it’s looked properly sometimes,

A student’s feelings can be known,

Some things written when they're alone.

The complexity of something boggles the mind.

Attractiveness that drags the eye towards it.

Boredom never felt when it is seen.

Happiness overriding all other emotions.

A pattern that pleases the analytical brain.

A mess that satisfies the inner child's mind.

To say that one thing is beautiful, and yet another is not, makes no sense;

As everything satisfies at least one of these criteria.

The wall, a pear, the top of a computer case.

A single flower, a petal, a mountain, some snow.

The microscopic picture of dirt and the mind-boggling life that lives everywhere.

Even blood, an insect, a large spider climbing up the bathroom wall.

Everything is beautiful, from a certain perspective.

#poem

#beauty

#everythingisbeautiful

She gets up in the morning to make you breakfast.

She finds her cutest outfit to make you look.

She does special thing with her hair, so that you will smile.

She makes her face up and put on lipstick so you would remember.

She fill the refrigerator so that you can eat.

She cleans the house so that you can be comfortable.

She takes care of your children so that you will have a legacy.

HOLD IT, WAIT. Did you notice that I said it was all done for YOU!

Underappreciated.

Blue velvet,

Starry sky,

Never ending,

Golden light.

Colored clouds,

Bright red sun,

Deep turquoise,

Wispy love.

Appreciate the blue,

The cloudy vast expanses,

For soon it might be gone,

And missed by all the masses.

So when you walk right under,

This shining sea of air,

Remember to look up,

Love what was always there.

There is beauty in silence, when the mind sings

with the voice of a million dreams and the courage of an army.

There is love in this body, for this mind,

for this loveless heart, for these wandering thoughts, spilling like waterfalls.

And this beauty I see, I taste, I summon...

There is magic in these hands, these eyes, that mouth that obeys the silence.

There is hope, trickling down my cheek, from the windows of the soul -

cracked open to let out the light.

#poetry

I used to spend a lot of my time staring out of windows,fantasizing about a beach that I used to go to. I suppose that I could’ve chosen to fantasize about anythmg in the world, but the majority of the time I had the beach in my vision. Specifically,I had Santa Cruz beach boardwalk in my vision.Years later I would find myself imagining the beaches in Cartagena Colombia.But initially,my only beach fantasy was Santa Cruz. I grew up in a city about 40 minutes from Santa Cruz. Over the years,my father used to take me and my brothers up to Santa Cruz to visit family. I always had a great time. I was always blown away by how close my cousins lived to the beach. In my eleven year old mind, they were the luckiest people in the world. The boardwalk was my favorite place in the world. It’s just something about the smell of seaweed and the crash of the ocean waves that really make me appreciate life.Then of course there’s the entertainment. I love rollercoasters and arcades intertwined with music and games and beautiful captivating people. So on occasion,as a kid I would be at the beach with me Father and brothers. As a teenager,I would travel to the beach with my friends. Those were awesome times. Not much money was involved. Just awesome energy,friendship and some good ganja. The only friends that I shared that experience with was my buddy Robert and my buddy Carlos. If I would have known better, I would have spent more time at the beach. But of course,I didn’t know better. I had no idea what was lurking around the corner.Needless to say that I was shocked when at the age of seventeen,I found myself tangled up in a web of thorns that would eventually leave me scarred both mentally and physically. It took me over 6000 days to maneuver out of that web. That entire time, I thought about the beach. Then one day,I was no longer confined to the web. I found myself free. One of the first things I did was go to the beach.This time the experience was different. I was a different person, in a different state of mind, a different purpose, a different perception, a different understanding. The boardwalk didn’t look how I remembered it. So much time had passed since I had last been there. Nineteen years. The energy still felt the same. The food still smelled enticing. The music and the sounds still tickled my ears with pleasure. The women were still gorgeous. The waves still crashed and the birds still screeched. The roller coasters took my breath away. I forgot how it felt to move at those speeds and to drop from those heights. That was absolutely the best time of my life. It was only for a few hours, but for me it was priceless. I shared that experience with my mother, Grandmother and my brother Michael. I really enjoyed walking in the sand with my brother, just talking about things that were not really imporant, but they meant something to us at the time. That’s my definition of beauty.

Poetry is the language of the soul,

Encrusted with sparkling, pure gold.

Sealing the thoughts of all those alive,

Concealing feelings of meanings so far and so wide.

Poetry courses through our veins,

Modestly taking no prize from whom it saves,

Every scar or bruise, every fragment of sense,

Lies engulfed in poetry’s bewildering essence.

Poetry possesses all inside you,

It drowns and confines you,

Forever it shall rule all man,

With its meaning too profound to understand.

Poetry lies in the enigmatic shadows,

Dancing through the night, prancing in meadows,

No fragment of matter can escape its power,

For its taste can be sweet, bitter or sour.

Poetry is the ballad of the heart,

Often breaking it into destitute little shards,

It is the light of the heavens and the fire of hell,

Enticing all God’s creation with the power it sells.

Poetry is the shining stars in the firmament,

Filling our minds with bliss and captivating every scent.

Misunderstood is this powerful blessing,

Taking us far away, to phenomenal settings.

Everything on earth is beautiful, but I think memories have an altogether unique beauty. They are beautiful because they are the keys to our past, to halcyon days, to happy times. When people leave or pass away, all that we can hold onto are memories- precious and heartbreaking. At the end of school or college or any important phase of life, what really endures, more than the report cards and the marks, is all the memories one has made. Memories shape us; even as they help us access the past, they aid us on the road to the future. Ultimately, our memories are an inextricable part of all of us.