Unseen

“We was walking in the mall the other day,”

“we saw a lot of faces.”

And in the evening,

“We was kissing and cuddling,”

“Screaming and fucking”

“It was absolutely amazing!”

Sorry!

In the sense that we all want to be seen

Not just another shadow that passes by

The search for importance,

yet meaningless,

the conversations about ourselves,

Dressed in colours

The music on the radio is the beat of the street

Maybe we find a soul that beats as one
He asked, “of all the faces you saw, how many do you remember? ”

I said, “a few faces.”

“But they were lots of faces?”

“Yeah!”

“Can you try to remember any vivid faces?”

“Yeah!”

“Someday you will wake up and realise, you are unseen.”

And that was the most painful thing he ever said to me.

But why was it painful? He is seeing me, and that’s all that matters.

He said, “when you are girl, a beautiful lady, boys look at you because they want you. Men look at you because they want you. Girls look at you because they want to be like you. And women look at you because they were once like you.”

you walked today in the mall, and got all heads turning to look at you. Someday, you will walk in the same mall, on the same street, and I will be the only head that turns, to look at you, because you will be unseen.”

“the faces you remember most vividly at the mall are more likely younger. But those in the shadows, the unseen faces, are what we all become sometime not far away.”

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Bodies

Embalmed

dust off, broken brushes,

ruined makeup

suffocate in your sleep

Dream about love

Does he kiss your forehead…

when he says goodnight?

Or smell your hair below the ears?

Around your neck

before he whispers your name,

to say he loves you

The emptying air from your lungs

To inhale a wet kiss

When lips meet and speak the language of one

Desires are unfolding sheets

Yet winding

Around warm bodies

Where hands sketch smooth skin…

Between the thighs

The river that flows upstream

And the falls of milky waters

Sigh to catch your last breath

Scribbles

Edges of a pen,

Warm hands

Ruined paper

The language of love

Trying to write about you

My mind is a haze…

lost in senses

I can still feel your touch on my skin

Smooth and cold,

Exhilarating

We never forget the sunset,

Or the sunrise

It is your smile

Tranquility is an ocean…

looking deep into your eyes

It won’t stop

Warm bodies,

The mating dance

In a November rain,

The rose petals are heavy…

with dew from silent sighs

Fantasies are ecstasies

Swimming in the depth of the river between

The monk in me

I was chatting with a friend today and she was feeling so down. I really felt for her and suddenly, “the monk in me” surprised both of us. You never know how much of life lessons or wisdom you have until something happens.

I look back and wish that I had made the right choices always, that there was someone to advise me whenever I needed to and that I took on that advice. But the past is a page written with a broken pen if all we remember is it’s sorrows.

What do you remember? How do you choose to remember your story? For the future is set like the sun, to rise again. The only path is to the grave. So how I walk this day? If I could make all the right decisions to achieve success, happiness or love, whatever else there is to obtain in this new day, how I wish I could be this wise everyday.

But I fail, don’t I? And you fail, don’t you? We are the broken vases watered every morning, only to lose our water before the heat of the midday. And so we watch our flowers wither. Our petals become frail. But don’t we come out strong? When the sun falls, we come alive with the dew on our skins, because we have each other.

Well I appreciate you for taking your time to read through my poems and here is the dialogue of the monk in me and my friend

PoetR : How are you feeling?

She: Stressed and tired

PoetR: You just want it to end

She: Definitely

PoetR: It has stopped

PoetR: Where are you now?

She: It doesn’t stop

PoetR: Meditate

She: Turn off the mind

PoetR: Just for a moment

PoetR: Find the peace within

PoetR: The rhythm that connects it all

PoetR: Relate to it,
and inside, where understanding meets the mind, you will know happiness
At least how to find rest in this turbulent world

PoetR: And now I feel like a monk

She: Hehehehehe!

She: You sound like a monk

PoetR: I know! Stuff just flows

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