Gone are the Days

gone are the days when I’d welcome meteorites
with an open heart
so that
they could warm it for a while
for they have gathered and gathered
on
top
of
each
other
and now
all I have are rocks
d
..r
….a
……g
……..g
……….i
…………n
…………..g
…………….me
down.

and I gasp for air.
but…?
nothing
seems to ease my mind
I have specks of polluted rocks
on my brain
help.

falling stars, indeed
I lose control
my body falls to the ground
dragged by an
eviscerated heart.

there goes my
hope I
am cold
shivers go down
my spine
who knew
this is what
escapism
brings along.

don’t go hugging meteorites. they’re cold.

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

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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

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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

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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