Coincidentia Oppositorum (Unity of Opposites)

Lent-ears can leave all hope.

The bird-eyes are to testify

against them.
A terrestrial remainder
of thought and sorrow 

will be here
to channel
the inspired, deep breathing, 

taken
then removed, 

like a bleeding-out story
from a survival theory

or a Dantean purgatory.

Your memory still lingers

over me

like a spiritual contrast,

an ironic alliance with a faithless past,

a denied complicity,
whose grace
saves the date

for an unforeseen future.

We had better unveil
the tragedy hide-outs in both,

those defying,
-without the expected results -

its physical charm,
its idyllic
yet hopeless embrace

or an attempted crossing

of the heart.

Right of Passage

Why do we fall

In love?

Are we not the good angels

on this wild journey

of life?

Is it about the heart or the hurt

this time?

Shall all our answers

be questioned, without parole,

by each Valentine,

then taught back

like some absolute truths are

imprisoned?

Whatever they may say,

A broken heart is still open

Until death says its last “good-bye”.

Happy Birthday!

I celebrate the day

You were born!

I worship this date in the February calendar

Like I do every year, without exception;

The day you came into the world

and changed it for the better!

I also praise and sing about

The day when we first met,

Cherish that first time

You held my hand

right into yours

and that very first hug.

So, may you have dreams and your dreams all

May come true, dear!

May your life be blessed like never before!

My prayers to God go on and on

For you 

For good, for an eternity.

I hope you seek only to find

A future of yet more greatness.

May the top of the world be at your feet

(If you would like)!

May happiness and fullness and love

Always accept your invitations

And may they all spend the myriad 

of upcoming years

With you and your dearest.

Picture (inspired by Ed Sheeran’s Photograph)

My memory can fade,

My memory can go blank,

I shall still have you
With me.

When held in the arms

Of a teary beholder

Silence can speak,

It can even get you back home

long enough,

To walk the same old streets
You used to belong to

And be young.

Who needs more evidence?

Who needs more proof
There was “us”?

Who can doubt those eyes

Even though they don’t see the future

But only the past?

In a photograph

A heart never ceases to beat.

Only our time is stopped

Right between two kisses,

Only our souls are healed

Sharing a smile so selfless,

Or a moment of clarity
with the taker

Right before the age of the selfies.

Though frozen for life
inside a silver frame

Or an elusive prisoner to a flaring screen

You are still perfect.

Platonic Harbors

I look back and see no storm

The lifeboat, as always, is empty

I am adrift

On a shoreless sea

A gifted sailor 

Running out of worries

Leaving behind a tangled net of what-ifs

Feeling only lighter, not lonely

Inside a tangible, spider-web-like breeze

Swinging amid a burning horizon

In circles.

There is hope

In this immaterial voyage of mine

For a human pendulum

Constantly eluding balance!

A cold comfort keeps growing around

Taking over the melting spirits within

No anchorage visions for now

Or into the wind

To daunt me.  

From a distance I might be just a point

One step farther and I become invisible.

No mermaid song

To cloud my judgement,

No agony in the drinking of sea water,

No strings;

Only one piece of rope 

Attached to my pride.

I remember there were times

I’d resent seeing a lighthouse

Or hearing the “Land, ho!”cry
Or defensively anchoring.

The perk of being your own crew 

May break one's soul into spells of magic

Making no piracy worthwhile.

I have been everywhere

Surviving my past

In plain sight, I am here and now,

Though concealed from the rest of the world

You can see me:
Just wondering why

The shorter straw is never the last.

To the Unmourned

When we grow old

We become either poems or myths.

We should never become crystal tears

or broken pieces of heaven

or prospects of ignorant bliss.

Were we not true to our own souls,

to the choices we had

and the chances we missed,

We’d regret more, 
we'd forget the last 
instead of the least

and remember its tragic core.

If it were just for me, 

In times like these

of constant sorrow 
(but such due grief)

the seeds of doubt would replace only

the sour fruit of deceit

and they would feel, 
without filling,

its most fragrant void.

One last pledge be made, 

one solemn truth to admit
and be told

I once passed an olive branch to a man

then let the sun go down

on his faith 

and maybe his love,

after promising him the moon. 

I am sure what they say is all real

that the healing was in his pain

like some whispers are 
in the summer wind

So the echoes I’d hear

Were the fears we’d breathed'n before

And they weren’t in vain.

You see, as youngsters 
there's
this 
tendency

to rush into dead ends.

And as we grow older,

We promise ourselves we shall be poetry

and that we shall remember the white of the snow,

those walks against those crimson-red sunsets

that measured our heartrate

and hope we shall cherish

the hours we don’t regret.

Let’s say it together- youandme

before we are too old!!!

As long as we both shall live

We are two revenants without sin,

Two mourners a half-lifetime away, 
the unbaptised stars above

and maybe a gentle morning breeze

guiding us both into oblivion.