Skip to main content

Destinations


This road ends here.
But as the destination beckons me,
I long to return.
To the long roads that smelled me,
That travelled a long way to listen to many stories,
To the pastoral lands that buried a thousand songs of herdsmen,
To the sumptuous forests
Of untold mysteries and hiding horrors,
And to the orchards of lovers.
As I long for the old paths,
The willow trees whisper
Helping the hairs to raid my ears.
Seeing the destination that awaits me,
I hardly seem to recognize it,
My heart resists to embrace it.
When the willows continue its whisper,
I long for the old motels,
Yearning for a way to it.
But the sky seems to jeopardize my plans,
Threatening with multiple invisible sounds.
The way ahead seems to be weary and unenthusiastic,
The sky whoops before the ultimate outbreak,
It screams giving me afterthoughts,
Suspicion creeps into the hemispheres of my mind,
Replacing the poor creator with reason.
I walk towards my unenthusiastic destination for a shelter,
Hoping to return.
As I run,
I see the lighted home,
Bright and unmoved
By the criticism of nature.
And then the willows shouted sharply,
"What is good for you is always ahead of you".

A.C

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Reminders

I want you to remember The photograph, you loved On the wall, That reminds me Of the last spring Where the potted sunflowers At our home smiled And the hanging creepers Mumbled, Of the girl who was looking For someone. You saw a thousand figures Dancing in her pupils A Mexican woman in Her huipil, A drunken man with his Lyre; Looking for the right Strings,And A peahen waiting to mate. You admired the Vine stems heading North In the picture, The cheap beads that The girl wore And the broken bridge Behind her, From which a fish Jumped for a self introduction. And when you remember Your dear picture, I want to remind You of the Coffee cup that tasted Your lips, The laundry drugged By your smell And the mirrors that Reflected your images. And you should know that The sunflowers no longer smiled And the creepers were silent Till yesterday. But today when The rain sprinkled its drops I see clearly the pupil Of the girl, Dark and intense,...
Post a Comment
Read more

Madeline’s Mirror

  Madeline’s mirror told her she’s fat, It appalled at her shapeless dress, Covering a chunk of flesh. She looked at her broad shoulders  And big breasts,  which reminded her of a pile of  clothes that no longer fits her. But Madeline smiled and applied her eyeliner effortlessly. Her mirror sneered at her  chafing thighs kissing each  other when she moves. Madeline’s mirror found her  plush lips contradicting  the pair of flesh  on either side of it. It spotted the two chins fighting for space like contestants in the combat zone. Madeline admired her freckleless skin, and applied her favourite lipstick. The mirror reflected  her flabby arms  complementing her  saggy belly. Madeline moved closer  to her mirror,  which still in oblivion,  started to produce sympathetic smiles at her legs. It mirrored how her legs carry all the weight, hiding under her flowy dress. Appreciating her silky hair and perfectly manicured...
Post a Comment
Read more

Murmurings of Married Women

  I hear murmurings from the graveyard In the West of the town,  Of married women,  Dead and disappeared years ago.  I wonder what a time they had,  What a life they lived.  Their husbands weep and weep and forget them,  They praise how they looked after their women,  Covering in glittery gold,  Buying them silly silks,  Giving makeup for a make-over.  But still, the women murmur,  Their voices seem to break the edges of tombs.  They force the sun to dry out the flowers on them quickly.  I lowered my face and listened to the tombs,  It seems their lipstick was revolting,  Their eyelashes lifted to show the desperation.  They talk about the lies they had to live through,  In fear of strangers' pointing fingers on getting a hint on their unhappy marriages.  They call out their abusive partners,  Told me to look for the broken bangles behind the kitchen for proof,  The blood-stained clo...
Post a Comment
Read more