Wednesday, July 6, 2016

About the rain

How tempting those days were.
My heart leapt with boundless joy, 
listening to the sweet symphony 
of the raindrops descending from the sky. 
Unceremoniously, I joined
the squealing pandemonium 
of pigtailed girls in red and white pinafores,
with their faces pressed into the wet gallery.
I watched in glee, a rosewood tree
that had stood orderly throughout the summer, 
dancing deviously to the beats of the cosmos, 
like the whirling dervishes of Turkey!

How tormenting these days are.
My heart sinks in boundless apathy,
listening to the chaotic cacophony 
of the rain mayhem besieging the city.
Desolate souls drowning in pools
of their own filth, chanting a dirge 
for those plunging into the holes, 
so surreptitiously submerged.
Meanwhile, the carbon emissions are rising,
and the mountains of debris are flowing 
ceaselessly from the bulwarks and bridges, 
built recklessly by the men with authority.  
If only the human race could evolve
as pure and supple as a rosewood tree, 
that when acquainted with the Rain,
found in it such perfect harmony!

Thursday, November 26, 2015

Breathtaking facts

Snapple “Real Fact” 
The average person takes 23,000 breaths a day.

I stumbled upon
a breathtaking fact, 
encapsulated in a Snapple soda cap,
directing the conscious self 
on an inward quest -
Of the immeasurable breaths drawn over
this measured lifetime, which one 
do I exhale into my grave?
And as I zoomed into the oculus, seeking
resolution to this innocuous question, exciting 
every wired tendril inside of my brain, screenshots
of the years bygone 
appear like movie trailers. 
When moments later
the reel slows down, halting
alongside the dusty plains 
of the Serengeti.  And through the sunroof
of a cramped up Jeep Wrangler, I marvelled 
at its beastly mystique, strutting 
royally under the vermillion sky,
until the glimmering visage turned
ruddy, clawing
into a lonely gazelle, 
shredding every
shroud of the skin on its delicate body, 
and rupturing 
my breath, 

Children of Kawah Ijen

Our fathers ascend the ladder up to heaven
amid the flicker of fiery blue.
Our fathers descend the ladder into hell
amid the fume of brimstone stew.

Our fathers ascend the ladder up to heaven
a wicker basket brimming with ethereal dreams.
Our fathers descend the ladder into hell
a weighty boulder bowing down their body’s beams.

And beckoning at the end, a clamoring crowd
of voyeurs and barterers, minus a shroud
of humanity to offer 
our fathers,
ascending and descending
restlessly, recklessly.

Here is a breaking news for the world to ponder.