Winter means

 

... a layering of clothes,
and needing to molt
throughout the day -
one skin when inside home;
another changed into
for afternoon strolls;
and yet another
when heading to
the neighborhood Kohl’s.

And then,
there is the constant fidgeting
of tying of shoelaces
by gloved hands,
an annoyingly arduous task.

Few months into the winter
dance dreams of
greener pastures.

Snow weary hearts

 

Watching the bed of Tulips
red and yellow
standing proud and tall
in my neighbor's yard
across the street

makes me hopeful
that the winter is
almost over,

and soon,

we would be shedding clothes

crowding in malls
and outdoor cafes
wearing low cut tops
and matching shorts

and let the warm breezes heal
our snow weary hearts.

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.