One for All
Curtailing the end of time,
We ponder upon the ripples in our lakes,
Unaware, perhaps deliberately,
That they are inevitably connected
By the gushing rivers that erode these grounds,
and through their steadfast flowing, eventually meet at one sea.
To set the heart ablaze.
What is a life,
without the ripples of the pond,
where there was once nothing but stillness,
now brought to life by desire.
Can there be such life
without a gift?
without a window
into the unknown
that lures us into our imagination,
tempting away the dull hum of monotony -
What is life without passion?
Without the ability to create,
To draw upon and trace the outlines of a world
With our ink, as it envelops the nose,
Engulfing it in colour and the birth of something new.
Is there such a life with no sunlight for a human being?
Indeed, there is no such thing,
Hence that must mean that this glow,
This desire to create, and this ability to create,
all exist inside of us already, no?
(Hello! Merry Christmas, I finally have the time to write now!! I hope you are all safe and well.)
As I winded down
the springs of yesterday,
I did not expect to already see the cogs of tomorrow
settle alongside the gears of my thoughts,
as they prepared to welcome
the soft murmurings of dawn and responsibility
outside the door.
do your piping hot words
take the shape of the wafer-thin promises,
that escape your mouth over the table
to another’s ears?
does the honey dripping from your voice
ooze into the cracks of another’s soul, just as sweetly?
and most of all do your hungry eyes,
that stare straight into my own, unwavering,
shift to the side the minute I look away?
The blades of their dance,
Clashed against the other,
As embers sparked from their eyes,
And they circled the ring,
Brilliant robes swishing in different directions
As the beat of the drums drowned out their footsteps,
Clicking their heels in tandem with the sound,
A fiery feud of ideals,
Bathing the room in the blinding flames
Of fighting spirit,
They danced with pride,
Until the outside sky that watched, enraptured by their world
Mirrored the hot crimson blood
That gushed through their veins,
As they spun to the rhythm;
- ladybell (sorry for my increased inactivity..with September comes the return to daily responsibility..thank you for your support :))
Day by Day.
I wonder if the sound of your footsteps
Will ever fade from my memory,
Whether your laugh dripping with sunshine
Will grow fainter in my ears over time,
Whether your peppermint grin, sparkling with life
Will start to crumble from the edges of my deteriorating vision,
Oh but I can still see clearly,
Those colours that surround you,
Threading the rainbow into your words,
As your hushed whispers echo through these empty hallways,
Beckoning the me that grows old,
Towards our past that lies buried,
Rooted in the embrace of the soil,
Still etched in the heart,
of the one who was left behind.
Ah, the smell of summer
Wafting along the breeze
Spotting dappled light amongst the leaves,
Softly, a vibrant green
Pierces the lenses of smooth glass
Resting on the sculpted visages of golden brown,
A spatter of freckles painting our skin,
As the sprinklers hiss in the background,
Jovially drizzling the green with sparkling droplets
While the taste of a thunderstorm hangs in the air,
Setting it alight with humidity,
And the squeaking of bikes can be heard outside,
As young and old alike navigate the asphalt, which paves a path,
leading them towards the precious memories waiting to be made,
Under the heat of this summer sun.
The tumultuous tides of change,
Bring with them glory,
Of unprecedented levels,
Carrying the salty scents of the unknown ocean in front of us,
Enchanted by the mystery of our kind,
As for us, legs stretched in front
While we lounge on our porch chairs,
Cloth masks strewn on the table,
We see the world transform
One will just have to wait and see.
Warm Summer Afternoons
They lay on the fields of pale yellow, staring up at the cloudless sky. Refusing to look at one another, or acknowledge the other’s existence at all, really. All that mattered in this moment was the breeze that ruffled their clothes and the rustling of the grass as it swayed to the music of the winds. The welcome chirping of birds as they extended the shadows that twined around their strewn -out sandals. The faint sound of a tractor in the distance, muted by the chatter of their minds. Right now, all they could think about as they stretched their hands up towards the blinding sun was the wisdom of the fields, supported by the laughter lines around their eyes as they rejoiced in the freedom of living.
Choose to Act, Not Complain.
Cursing the bitter gourd
For shocking your tongue
Is not what will make it better,
It is by popping sweets into your mouth
Or pouring a stream of water down your throat
That you can expect to remedy
The distaste that will otherwise linger.