3-year anniversary. Once again, I want to thank everyone who has supported me throughout this year!
“Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis.”
The 31st of August
August
Bright red poppies, liberation,
Golden fields, murmurous springs,
Barefoot, daydreaming, reflection,
Books to read, moments to seize.
By myself, freedom, green forests,
Hiking, whispers in the wind,
Dark soils, teal skies, music,
Endless possibilities.
..
Riding on the water’s surface,
Touching blades of wild grass,
Sunset, sunrise—peachy, dreamlike,
Wildflowers and soft green moss.
Lively cities, friendly people:
Sonder. Sun. And wanderlust.
Crickets chirping and birds trilling,
Golden sand and azure seas…
This is August. This is home.
July
I lie down in the summer meadow,
Hearing its endless calling.
Blue daisies dance in the refreshing breeze
Of summer winds. The music
Of countless locusts soothes me whole,
Their chirping—so surreal.
The scent of emerald blades of grass
Invites me to stay for a while…
The cowbells of the grazing cows
Fading away on distant hills,
The burning sun, the golden corn,
This is my home forever…
– Patricia
Depleted
The restless city knew no sleep,
For it had known a three-month slumber,
And now its people wanted to feel
Alive. But with no sense of wonder.
Only the very few who’d learned
What it had meant to have less freedom
Had come to cherish each new day
With all its sunsets and beginnings.
And thus, the busy, crowded streets
Were no place for the tiny beings.
No, they were to be found up there,
On slender telephone lines, dreaming.
Dangling their feet above concrete,
Their eyes glued to the pearlescent symbol
Of Hope amidst the worst of times,
Eyes glued to one celestial being.
The crescent moon was their escape
From endless suffering and trials.
When nightfall came, they hopped up there
On slender telephone lines, sighing.
Fixing their gaze upon their Hope,
They wished the sand would stop its trickling…
For one night only… Maybe more…
The hectic world had left them weary…
How fine would then be everything…!
If they could dream and drink in magic…
If they could have the time to breathe
And get back to their truest selves and…
For now, one night was just enough…
The tiny people kept on gazing.
The chirping crickets, the linden trees…
Oh, it was June! And they kept on dreaming…
– Patricia
May
Oh, May has been so good to me:
The sun, the freedom, serenity,
The rain, the fresh smell of the soil,
The chirping birds… Yet mortal coil,
Yet there was turmoil, endless pain,
Yet down fell tears on my face…
Though May was wonderful, it hurt
To experience it as myself.
The vibrant cyan sky filled my eyes
With gleams of hope and paradise…
The moments when I stopped, breathed in
Brought mindfulness. Escape from me.
But I am constant in my pain:
I feel relief, then I regain
The burdens I carry. Linden May…
It hurt to experience it as myself.
– Patricia
Message in a Bottle
With shaking feet, she stood her ground,
As anxious thoughts tore at her mind.
She wouldn’t back down, not right now,
Not when the sea was there, unbound.
For all that she could do right now,
The only way to ease her mind,
Was hope that her fast-scribbled words
Would reach another shore, somehow.
She’d written down her burning love,
Confessed she had her only sin,
And now, no longer bottled up,
She could entrust it to the sea.
Her message—words of timeless love,
Her messenger—the unknown sea,
Her heart—a spring of blossomed hope,
Her feet—sinking into the sand.
Her trembling fingers touched the words,
Her eager hand sealed them inside
The safest of the ships there was,
A bottle. And a kiss goodbye.
White-crested waves would carry it
To that one shore where it would find
Another beating heart—all hers,
Forever and always: her Love.
– Patricia
The Love We Think We Deserve
On a peaceful summer night,
We lay in the soft green grass
And looked at the stars above,
Chatting with utmost delight.
Then, you did something so strange,
Tried to take my hand in yours.
This was new to me. Confused,
I pulled back. Awkward it felt.
You were hurt, but hid your pain,
I—surprised—just laughed and talked,
And we chatted cheerfully,
Walking on dangerous quicksand.
I knew it would lead to that,
We both knew what we had meant,
I was shocked—wasn’t prepared
To accept your love so fast.
To accept your love at all,
Come to think of it. It’s true…
Why would you love me for me…?
When I know my every flaw…
I cannot accept your love,
Your affection is too much.
I feel smothered and ashamed.
I’m not worthy of your touch.
Let me be and fake away
All this cheerfulness—my shield.
Let us stay just as we are.
Let my smiles hide my pain.
For I once heard that we can
Accept just the type of love
Which we think that we deserve,
And I’m not worthy of yours…
Let me be just as I am,
Let us be just as we are,
Chatting, looking at the stars.
I am not worthy of more…
– Patricia
Escapism
We turn to colourful screens
Which show the lives we want,
To lend us a helping hand
In forgetting the lives
We have out here.
We drink in all that fantasy,
And, wanting to escape
Our cruel realities,
The static and the pain,
We choose to dream.
We let them choose our dreams
For us. We yearn for all those lies,
Because what else is left
For us to do?
Confront reality?
Oh no…
That hurts too much already…
But are they truly lies?
They’re better when it comes
To comforting us.
This love
Cannot be fake.
The warmth we feel inside,
That they give us,
Is the only one we have.
Outside, there’s suffering,
Inside, there’s suffering,
But not there.
That’s where colour is.
So, we choose to escape.
– Patricia
Reinventing Herself
Regardless of the trials,
Regardless of the sadness,
She found that she could still
Survive and thrive within.
Regardless of the dark times,
Regardless of her weakness,
She still enjoyed the times
When storms would play her chimes.
Regardless of her struggles,
Regardless of the dark thoughts,
She still lived in the now,
With mindfulness endowed.
Regardless of the pain and
Regardless of her thinking,
She found herself anew:
Still breathing, unsubdued.
– Patricia
Misfit
The quiet girl was sitting at the window,
Gazing into the darkness of the night.
Only the ballads of the chirping crickets
Were to be heard under the pale moonlight.
She sought to find her peace—away from others,
While cheerful voices chatted endlessly.
But she was strange, silent and always awkward,
Never herself in their vicinity.
So, there she was, staring into the distance
At what could be her true welcoming home.
The darkness mirrored clashing thoughts and feelings,
As restless shadows conquered her—deformed.
Reality was crushing her entirely,
Weighing her down—her spirit growing weak…
It pained her greatly: knowing that she wasn’t
Just brave enough to not care or to leap.
She stepped over the window frame, deciding
To be one with the quiet of the night.
Velvety arms—the ever-growing darkness
Embraced her fully. The hour of midnight.
The ghostly moon, the pallor of the window.
That’s all there was. But out there, in the night,
A weeping willow could be seen. The misfit
Had found her home. Reborn. Forever white.
– Patricia
Da Capo al Poetry 