Natukashii

The rose bush in my childhood’s home

is blooming.

I didn’t know they lived that long.

I’m hiding behind it

thinking like the child I once was

As if fifty years had not passed.

Laboriously I straighten to stand again

Ocean

Swimming towards the rising sun.

The sea is like a mirror.

Underneath deep blue.

Above pink clouds are floating,

Amongst complaining sea gulls.

The water is cool against my skin.

Swimming away from the setting sun.

The swell is strong,

Pulling me towards the island.

Breaking waves are roaring.

Dark above, dark below.

I can't tell sea from sky.

The Cock and the Pearl

A cock strutting in the yard

Found a pearl in the hay
It’s only mine, he called the hens
Everyone here away!

He pecked it once, he pecked it twice
Before taking into beak
He tasted, chewed and then spat out
It’s not a thing to eat.

It’s stupid, useless piece of junk!
He called in great dismay
Why does man adore it much?
It’s not as good as hay.

While some would claim ignorant cock
Missed treasure he could have
What value is a pearl to you
If hay is what you crave?

A free interpretation of a Aesop's fable with the same name

Old habits die hard

(image by lonelypierot)

What an amazing place he chose for their first date, she can barely hear her thoughts rising above the thumping of her heartbeat. With sweaty palms she dials his number from her hiding place behind the heavy curtain; the number she she now knows by heart. Not that it’s her first blind date of course; not at all. But this time she has no doubt that he is The One. 

For months they've been talking. She can see him as a child climbing trees; as an adolescence kissing his first love; as a restless adult who could never fulfill his hidden passions. She can still feel her curled sobbing body under the blanket, when her choking words told him her secret – the words she never thought she'd utter. She also remembers lying in bed for, with the telephone in one hand, laughing for hours. Even now she can barely stand when thinking of the near violent shaking or her body releasing her desire when he played with her mind, release that nobody in flesh has ever lead her to. There was nothing she didn’t know about him. Nothing he didn’t know about her. Nothing but one. 

She had always fallen for looks, always for the wrong man, so this time she insisted their looks would remain secret, and he accepted. Until today it was their only secret. But from the moment they agreed on this meeting, she could only think of their lips meeting; of their first touch. Today she’ll see him for the first time. 

She pushes the wrong button, and with trembling fingers dials again. The sound of a phone ringing in the tranquil restaurant cannot be mistaken. It’s her favorite melody, the one she taught him to love. In the shimmering candle light a man lifts the phone to his face. Hello he says with a gentle smile. But he is not the man in her mind; not the man she saw their lips touching; not the man who brought her all the pleasure, the man who made her laugh. He is not the man who, for the first time, will explore her body with his. On her way out she knows she’ll never speak with him again. She knows that it’ll be the man who sent her the photos she’ll be meeting next. He will not be the man she wants, but the man she responds to, whose looks pushes her buttons. Next time, it will be the wrong man again.

I feared

I feared failure
Until I realized that if I don’t try I don’t fail.

I feared the truth
Until I learnt that I can’t tell it from a lie.

I feared people's opinions
But now I know that most people don’t think.

I feared ridicule
But I was ridiculous with my fear.

I feared rejection
Until no one was left to reject me.

I feared love
But it was just an illusion.

I feared being alone
Until then I discovered porn

Thank God for the internet.

I feared pain
But now I learnt to enjoy it.

I feared my destiny
Until it dawned on me that I,

Just like everyone else,

Know my future from the beginning.

There is nothing I fear any more.

Memories

Words I had not heard for years
Shuttered the latch
And Flooded me with images I had not seen
Feelings I had not felt
Places I could not remember
And ghosts long gone.

Will the flood drain?
Will the gates ever shut?

(image: http://jaggu79.deviantart.com/)

Inshallah

(image: http://chicho21net.deviantart.com/)

Tomorrow, Inshallah

we should be grateful that tomorrow came at all, 

because it’s not us who make it be. 

But we forget.

Tomorrow, Inshallah 

we’ll play again on the stage. 

A stage we did not make. 

But we forget.

Karma, fate, Inshallah. 

We took their words but left their minds behind

So we can forget.

Privileged to forget, 

haughty amoebas in a drop of water taking over the world. 

Tomorrow they’ll play again. 

Inshallah.

Lite Love

(image credit)

Not the common beauty that sells magazines, but whenever she floats by, her scent awakens dreams of forgotten legends. No man can resist turning his head for a look of admiration.  If you are among the lucky with whom she exchanged some words, you will not remember them, but only your own yearning to see her smiling at you, for a flash of fantasy that fades into a short sigh of realization that she is beyond your reach.

Yet, nearly every night you’ll find her in the corner pub on her own. Only when she drinks can she care to hear those whose drinking instilled confidence in their hearts to approach her. Only when she drinks can she find them alluring for a night of lonely passion, from which she hopes to wake up on her own. She never does.

A woman of talent and beauty; tonight you will find her in the little pub, hoping that this will be her last night. 

Beginning and end

This masterpiece is not mine. It's T. S. Eliot's - a true genius. I just couldn't resist including it in my blog

What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

Desert Rain

It’s a good day for the little teashop owners, who provide the only shelter from the downpour. Impassable puddles, filled directly from a low grey sky, can only be crossed by the green carriages pulled by the old tired horses. Teenage motorcyclists, who dare each other to cross the deep dark puddles, yield angry incomprehensible words and fist waving from the occasional passerby splashed with the brown murky mud.

It’s a bad day for those whose livelihood depends on visitors: the snake charmers with their black cobras and vipers, crawled back to their baskets; the acrobats performing aerial somersaults in waitress-like white uniforms; the story tellers, teeth pullers and fortune tellers. None of them will make ends meet today. Yet, the air is filled with smiles, drumming music and excited chats. 

When did they last see rain? 

It’s only the visitors, many of whom came to escape from the grayness of their own places, who complain to each other while sipping slowly their mint tea served in minute glasses. Occasionally they would stand up and move to the next teashop to have a new view of the rain, hoping for something to happen; anything at all that will break the routine of the day, and give them the touch of excitement they crave so much.

Unforgetting

(image by http://lonelypierot.deviantart.com/)

The language I can’t remember hearing
The foods I don’t remember eating
Are all around me. 

No, please don’t.
I beg you.
I will do as you say.
As if the black bruises
Have never left me. 

Failure

(Picture by  somedayxTakara)

It was my project on display.

I won the award.
Everybody saw it.
A great future awaits you, the teacher said.
Her words still echo in my mind.

The future was mine,
so it was hard to believe
that at the final test
when the bell rang
I was sitting in front of a blank sheet.
There was no second chance.

I remember the big match.
Standing in front of the empty goal.
Cheering crowed
and I missed.
I never played again.

Yet, at work I was given a chance.
But when I turned the switch on
It went dark.
My settings were wrong.
It was an expensive mistake.

So after so many years
When I ran into my teacher she said
I always knew you’d reach far,
What are you doing these days?

Without a word
Hiding a tear
I smiled
Turned my back
and walked away

The commuter

Unable to disobey the tyranny of the alarm clock, she wakes up. She unreasonably believes that her long working hours will be noticed. Naïve she is, and doesn’t realize that the promotion has already been given to another. Devotion had nothing to do with it. 

It’s dark outside, and miserably cold. She runs to catch the train. In the station, she buys her usual cup of coffee. It’s lukewarm and tasteless. She tries to follow her latest self-improvement advice: it’s all in your mind. She tries to imagine the drink to be somewhat like a real coffee: hot, aromatic, full of flavour. It still isn’t. She looks at the coffee with disgust. The coffee seems to be looking back at her with the same lack of enthusiasm. She throws it to the bin and misses. 

In the train she pushes her way in, winning over her daily nemesis – the pushy elderly lady. This time she gets the seat and feels lucky. She fights to get her umbrella shut, dripping water on everyone around her. They do the same to her in hostile politeness. She ignores them; after all she already had her first win for the day. She feels even luckier when she finds herself sitting next to a gorgeous young man. He too is dripping. 

She thinks how nice it would be to spend a night of passion with him. But only on Friday nights, after a few drinks, might she find herself chatting to people on the train; never on a week day; never in the morning. She opens her book. 

What she doesn’t realize about the young man that he too is not enjoying his ride. He too would be happy to chat. He too would love to meet with her tonight. They both sit in silence. 

In the evening, they stay late at work. They leave their offices, each to his apartment, each to have a leftover pizza. She puts hers in the microwave, he eats his cold. Then each goes to sleep in a big, cold bed, alone.

Once was a woman

Once was a woman, wife of doctor,
who was known to be most proper.
She always wore the latest fashion,
and was the best at conversation.
Her words were kind with no aggression,
even when she felt depression.

She never gave the wrong impression,
not even at the heights of passion.
Did she feel it? No one knew,
this wasn't issue to review.
Unlike the charity donation,
it's not her type of conversation.

She didn’t think nor did she dare
to ask herself if she did care,
or what her partner thought of it,
not having seen her naked bit.
Respect she got, was often flattered,
but not from those who really mattered.

She kept on smiling when her partner,
for lack of passion, left for other.
She was respected, but alone
craving some touch.
She was no stone.

But will she learn to get it right
to touch, to feel, to follow heart?
Or will she age with great regret,
of putting life on losing bet?

Descartes

Cogito ergo sum

He said.

I think therefore I am

I stopped thinking

What am I?

Deafening Silence

Climbing up the dune

Protected by my robe

From that which cannot be felt

The moonlight hides the invisible.

Climbing up the dune

In deafening stillness

Until the roar of the night breeze

Brings silence.

The Gypsy

A wild music he played
On the violin
Most paid him to go
I paid him to stay
And bought a moment of kinship
For a fiver.

Ten houses I lived in

On top of the mountain facing the sea, where winter wind blew roofs and cars away … 1965

Amongst the fish ponds, where in summer nights clouds of mosquitoes attracted to the light-bulbs turned them dark … 1983

The room in the basement in which two of us would sleep so comfortably in a tiny single bed … 1985

A tin house so cold in the winter that the water in the bathtub turned into a block of ice … 1989

A tiny square room without a window, bath or shower, which I shared with three. Did I enjoy the public bath … 1991

Hideaway in the rainforest where the screeching bats on the mango trees kept us awake all night; and so did our baby … 1996

A massive condominium with lifeguards who could not swim, but were concerned with babies floating petals in the water …1999

An English village, so English that even the English themselves could not believe that such Englishness still existed. It was the house where I passed the change of the Millennium

A white castle with a living room the size of a basketball field. We turned it into a kids’ gym, but the neighbors  did not approve … 2003

A blue house where my son found lizards bigger than him in the backyard. We never kept them for long … 2005

It’s these ten houses and the many others I have lived in that made me realise that it’s who I am and not where I am that matters.

Once upon a city

A city
Once so grand
Glorified past
Decay.

Just another city
Like any other.

The Tower of London

The beauty of the blood-soaked jewellery
Cannot distract the young couple on the travellator
From gazing into each other’s eyes
Longingly.

Not even the screams of the ghosts
Whose organs are burnt
In front of their not-yet-dying eyes
Can stop their passionate kissing.

It was a flicker of a dress
A glimpse
And an argument
That sent them to never see each other again.

While the ravens, feasting on their ancestors stories
Are still waiting
For the return of the days
When warm flesh is served
With every meal.