sunrise and writers; waiting for eternity

In a near empty open cafe somewhere down town I sit. And as I look out the glazed window, I observe the tourists and athletes that walk by. Everyone excited about the olympic games that were soon to start, everyone happy in the spirit of summer. As i watch a young couple at the far end of the cafe glance towards my direction, I wonder if they can hear the pounding  in my heart as I contemplate a certain sadness that would soon be mine- for when the clock strikes 6 it would be exactly a year since Tom had kissed me goodbye in this very cafe.....on this very spot. I look down on the fine wood I am sitting on, remembering how my heart had shattered into a thousand fragments, as I had watched him walk out the open doors and disappear into the crowd outside- having unknowingly taken my life and soul with him and forever leaving me with vivid memories of a past we spent....and the glimpse of a future that could have been ours.

Everything around me screamed his name, everything from the cold cup of coffee in my hand,which had been made exactly how he had liked his, to the subtle scent of the cologne that I could still smell on his sweater that I had on. even the way the man on the opposite table smiled at the waitress, reminded me of him- always a charmer, forever a gentleman. In many ways the the cold coffee in my hand was warmer that the chill in my spine and the pain in my heart. I still love you, I thought to myself. even after everything I still love you and I would race time if that is what it took to see you again.but I also new that this was impossible; a dream of a wish that was inconceivable- and a past that was irredeemable. 

The strangers around me whistle past and I feel the still hot summer kiss my cheeks, as if in an effort to provide comfort and restore the warmth to my soul. But they only succeed in making me more aware of my sadness and this new loneliness that was both alien and invasive. just then the clock strikes six and I involuntarily turn back to stare at the entrance, half expecting to see Tom himself strolling towards me, letting me know that it had never happened and he had never left. With a mixture of disappointment and grief, the tears slide down slowly but surely and i reach for the hem of my sleeves as if to serve as a brake to the tears. But now it has dawned on me....Tom is gone forever.

Duby.

The River Flows in You

Sun gleaming, and the wind whistling
gentle silence.

-And you there, making Love’s presence felt
listening intently, hearing no more than a whisper.

And then the notes strike you, and you seem to gasp.

Something amazing! Your eyes round tell
These notes so sweet, so complex, so utterly intricate waft breaking silence.

And then your eyes fall on the River;
You gasp again.

Like diamonds! No- Ten thousand stars instead.
Sparkling, dazzling, streaming gracefully to eternity seeming.

You turn to me again, opening your lips to say it all
which remains open, saying nothing.
Unaware that lay before me, three perfect beauties
-the melody, the River,
And the girl.

Yes, darling, my melodies inadequate to describe what’s true
And yes, darling, the River flows in you.

Cathy

Charlie Brown

What is light but rings of depth
What is happy that is borne of sadness
What is soulful but first touches the ears
What is cherished but first understood

What is important but can always be lost
What is visible but can go unnoticed
What is of now, that some place in the past

secrets and dreams might make us happy
fame and riches might be the difference
But amidst the joy and the smiles
when the mirth makes the moment alive
We will never be lost and we will never feel down

We all hope to live like Charlie Brown.

hearts and pieces; le chat et le renard

hold me tight make my dreams come true
laugh with me make me come alive
say something new make my mind spark

tell me your dreams let this fairytale happen
lets be spontaneous  life is short
lets make a play of time nothing is sure

I dont understand fully, not nearly wise enough
some things you just do, you dont need to think
lips are subtle hearts are brittle
so kiss the former and love the other

People are complex, minds are weirder
everything is not easy, but this is simple
I am cunning you are curious
you are sweet, I am honey
We are free, we are young

If tomorrow the stars shine brighter the smile will be broader
If the sun shines on my face the memories would be merrier
Times  may change, bodies might age
I am here, you are there
But some things remain the same
You are a cat, I am a fox

one moment that eternity will not steal.

Duby.

hearts and pieces

The one who could not be saved

Here is a story about a boy and a girl. The girl had never loved; the boy was to be lost. It started out like any relationship in the 21^st century; first an invite (facebook) then a connection (Skype), and then a spark (love). Questions ran through her mind.  Is it possible that he might be the one to make it true? Can this be the love I have always feared…could I one day be strong enough to feel and lose?

I had never seen him before and yet he had seen me; sometime in the past as kids we had met and he was the one who remembered everything. For once her normally perfect memory failed her for she could not recall a face…could not even ascribe a name or personality. And yet she allowed herself to accept the fact that he was not a stranger, because she wanted him to be a friend. Many times in life we meet someone that makes us feel happy but only rarely do we meet someone that makes us feel true….someone that makes us feel special that we are who we are. Some would later on call them acquaintances, others would say they are friends…but as far as faith goes I like to refer to them as the ones ‘to be saved’.

Trying to find a boy you like is like trying to guess which is the best book on a shelf by observation; at first we notice the fine edges and then we admire the title, but we still do not know what this book contains…still cannot be sure of its reliability as an interesting piece of work that would make our time and money worthwhile. And then we dare to read the writer’s review at the back. At first we lightly surf through the summary albeit a bit curious. And then we read it closely, this time paying more attention to hints about the book’s nature and uniqueness. In many ways this is what many would use to judge the book in finality. But with me, it is the comments of other notable figures at the bottom (such as newspaper bodies, famous authors, and outstanding media figures) that would eventually serve as my final basis of judgement….that would be the key to making my choice.

Like a book, every person has an outline. The fine edge of the book’s spine are what keep the book together in much the same way as our bodies are what enhouse us and make us functional. In the same way a book has designs to make it attractive so also do people have faces that will serve to set them apart from others and make them look more or less striking. The many pages of a book are like the many colours of our personality. You can act in so many ways and yet still be one character, one individual, one person, one heartbeat. In much the same way a book has so many themes but one distinct plot; one conclusive ending.

One can love a thousand times but never understand. Because like a rainbow love is a perfect beauty as it is a rare complexity. But you cannot touch a rainbow and you can never hold one down. Yet you believe that it is a rainbow because you can see it. You admire its existence though you cannot guarantee its longevity. Trying to comprehend love is almost as impossible as attempting to chase a rainbow.#

Duby

Some thoughts

Oh the perils of being too young
But 'far-too-old!' to play and sleep

They drive us night and day
like herds of cattle, forced to read

'Look to your future 'ole girl', he'd hiss
'I wish, old man'- he'd never guess- 'and leave just all of this'

Because then I'm seated in First Class first
A night, a new country- for a new day

And round my neck, expensive glass
A doting man would wave my way

I'd speak of things that'd help the world
And strategies to change Her ways

And when I'd have them by the rope,
Like Ghandi, raise my hands in hope

For now though, I realise
This wooden desk will suffice

And these glamorous wooden dolls,
Will lend me a silent applause.

-Cathy

Friends!
So I've written this poem a while ago, but no one seems to understand what it means. The things is, when I had written it I never intended for it to be extremely literal, and for the whole context to be understood. In general, when I write, I write for readers to experience the beauty of language, words and sounds. To experience different ways words can be arranged to produce a  great effect; for others to feel what I feel when I am inspired.


Anyway, here is the poem. In light if the previous post I wrote, On the Universality of faith and Religion, here is the poem based on it. Please enjoy. I hope you now understand.
-Cathy

Sweet disposition

Images fleeting into pools of reds, and greys and blues

Melting into light, pure light

So much so that eyes are helpless with no power of their own

But widened and gaping, lids pressed hard against.

It was hard to notice the icy cold of the screen

That scalded my scarce- touched cheeks

Even harder, I do think,

To acknowledge the silence of the freight within.

 One last glimpse of the grey blue skies around

And the magic of the stillness and stunning beyond

and the awesome feeling that we were “more”

Having stared at the smallness of life on the ground.

Then, with a jolt, I faced within

Did wonder whether I was alone in seeing this

Found only the same within the room

That silence and power, those greys and blues.

The ice beauty there did stop my heart

and soon my tongue humbled

And as the shadows outside skilfully crept through creeks

 Embraced the breathing, alighted the peace.

A movement in the near-dark

A moment of awareness

Pulsing ears and hearts, never breaking the silence

A boy.

Of angels, and nature, and something –and God

In hushes and murmurings, not a whisper above

But the electric blue of the jolts that did pass through

Had his eyes hue, and gave courage, new.

And only for now could we exist like this:

Two colours, beliefs, genders, and wishes

Mutual amazement at a spirit found less in few,

A black almost grey, a white almost blue.