It cuts me, their words
Words of departures
To other lands and other faces while I remain,
restricted, unearthed,
Like nails hammered my feet onto
Earth
The day they depart,
Like ghosts their silhouettes dance
As I hug them to go
like a piece of me vanished
I wave goodbye
I still wave goodbye --they never glance back
I am the waver at the points of departure;
Shaking with the hands, shaking in faith
Of return
Shaking with the tremor of ships and steam
And bursting with jets of water that leak
from the corners of my being
I am no one's wave master
My travelers see me
when the edges turn into dust.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Saturday, June 28, 2014
Infinite
Infinite is the possibility of
Tracing a circle's origin
Watching the shooting stars
And plastering a sparkling star on a
Round infinite circle
To measure affection and devotion
It resets the circle of infinities
To the beginnings of drawing another circle.
Tracing a circle's origin
Watching the shooting stars
And plastering a sparkling star on a
Round infinite circle
To measure affection and devotion
It resets the circle of infinities
To the beginnings of drawing another circle.
Music
In all the minutes that tick
I hear music
Not only rising from the handles of
Time
But notes come onto my ears;
What I hear is the music of others
The music of their thoughts
The beating of their hearts
I hear these every time someone gasps
For air, in surprise, and
every time someone calls a name
People hear jabber
But to me it is all eight notes
And a few strings.
I hear music
Not only rising from the handles of
Time
But notes come onto my ears;
What I hear is the music of others
The music of their thoughts
The beating of their hearts
I hear these every time someone gasps
For air, in surprise, and
every time someone calls a name
People hear jabber
But to me it is all eight notes
And a few strings.
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