The ghost of Lisbon

Past September
when in Lisbon
on the last evening
we did not get a chance
to sit along the boardwalk
in Parque Das Nações
and reflect on
our time together.

We did not get to hear
the silence of unspoken words
that flow between lovers
as the moments of parting
get closer.

We did not get to say adieu
and tell each other that although
we may not meet again,
it is okay.

And now,
the ghost of Lisbon
calls again. 

Mr. Takaya

 

I do not know
the sum of all feelings
that have already
been put in words.

Is what I write plagiarism
or is not?

I would never know
if Mr. Takaya,
living in Nogoya
centuries ago
had felt what I feel
and carved similar words
on a sacred stone.

From where I stand
I can only see
a sliver of the universe
and within my horizon
these words stand
unique and tall.

Plagiarism or not,
what really matters is
when words birth
they become joy
and an anchor
to hold my unsteady self
from drifting
in a shoreless sea.

In his own universe
Mr. Takaya may have
felt the same,
and even though
I would never know,
it is a decent bet.

Existential crisis, the beginning #6

 

Not too long ago, 
a day was just -
oh well, a day!

It was neither a despair,
nor a hope
merely a nondescript slope
that needed to be climbed
from dawn to dusk
to arrive at the summit,
then turn around
and head back home,

but now, 

there is often an urge 
to peel few layers
of surface on which I walk
and look at them under
a microscope
in search for meanings.

Climbing is no longer
a mindless task
now a day can wear
different masks.

A Winter Wish

Into six months of winter
comes the craving for summers,
dreams of wearing flip-flops,
watching people in colorful tops
sauntering in Montego Bay,
and visions of a cheerful life

lived in the Bougainvillea Way.