Awaking Dream...

Wispy Blue Dreams

If I dream enough

Will it, can it all come true?

What if I believe?

Can the things I see

Step out of my dreamy blues

Into this green Earth?

Wispy strands of hope

Cling to my heavy eyelids

With each coming day

I dream of blue seas

I dream of laughter, and love

Dreams bigger than me

Once I dreamt I was

Looking into a mirror

I was much older

My eyes were crinkled,

My skin was sunburnt, hair wet,

And I was smiling

My cousin was there

She told me she had heard of

The work I had done

The lives I had touched,

The children that I had taught,

The lives I inspired.

She paused and asked me,

‘Are you happy?’ ‘YES’ I said

I truly meant it.

I  hope it comes true.

My dreams are bigger than me

And I live for them.

- a poem in haiku’s by Chriselle -

“It’s complicated…” he said.

“It’s complicated…” she said.

He drew her closer to him, his left arm underneath her small frame, his right arm reaching over to hold her close and warm her against the bitter winter night’s chill.

Her head rested in the crook of his arm, the back of his knees curled into the back of hers… She reached her hand up to intertwine her fingers in his, and closed her eyes as she felt him kiss her shoulder gently. One, two, three kisses…Soft and tender…

They fell asleep that way, like lovers who were familiar with the intricacies of each others’ bodies, locked together in a sweet embrace.

Morning light found them and broke their spell…

“One more night?” the question lingered on her lips.

“I have to go” he said.

It’s complicated.

I’ll play the night like a song

Each star will ring out tones that make up

The melody that my heart sings my mind to sleep,

Eyelids heavy with dreams of love,

Of comfort, of hope…

Dulcet tones that ease my pain

Waves of REM that lull my tired brain

Into a state of painless rest

——————————————-

I’ll play the night like a song

And rock it away on a wooden ship-bed

That sails me away from the morning light,

Which sheds its rays on the emptiness beside me

Onto the space where my hands clutch at air.

Oh dawn, curse that sun!

It brings nothing but despair.

—————————————————

I’ll play the night like a song

Sad and sweet and melancholy

Filled with low tones of longing

Plucking notes on heartstrings,

With an ever-steady beat to mark

Time’s slow passing

For nothing makes it race now, No,

Now it just gently weeps.

On adoption

I like to dream about

which colours of love you’ll be born in

If your hair will be the colour of wheat,

Of sand,

Of roasted chestnuts,

Of ebony or straw or fire…

I dream about which shades

will reflect the depth of your soul

Will I gaze into an endless, clear ocean-blue

Or the deep hues of forest greens,

Or lush, dark bark?

I wonder if you’ll gaze up at me

with eyes like mine,

Honest and brown,

The color of the gentle Maya,

bird of my country

In these dreams my mind and spirit fly

Over oceans, across vast lands

Seeking the place of your birth

Be it Borneo or Prague,

India or Rio,

I will find you, my son,

Borne of this Earth, child of my heart.

I like to think about your voice

and wonder which language I will

get to hear you speak in,

the richness of your laughter,

the subtle nuances of your tones,

and the day you will come to know me

and call me “Mom”…

Love knows no language barriers.

I will let my beating heart tell you

Without words

How much you are loved.

My life follows a road

that will bring us together

Through searching or serendipity,

Or by the Unseen Hand of Destiny.

I am on a path to you,

My son,

born in the colours of this Earth,

born to be loved by me.

*** An old, old journal entry, circa August 2004, when I was 21 ***

Some people believe that we serve no purpose in life and that our days here are filled with repetitive cycles of suffering. They say that we’re machines, with no real purpose whatsoever, and that we live and work and we’ll die and it will never, ever change.

The thing is, these people don’t realize that they quantify life. They break it up into periods of days and years and cycles and constantly think about the past and the future. They see themselves as a means to an end, which is for them inevitable death. They don’t see the QUALITY in life. And there IS quality in life.

I see things this way sometimes —> I’m already dying. I don’t know when it’ll be, it could be next week, it could be in a year, i could even go to sleep tonight and not wake up tomorrow. I could get hit by a bus, I could fall down the stairs and my heart may even just stop beating.

This is why the clouds look nicer, why the warmth of the sun feels so good on my skin, why i choose to appreciate things and situations, fucked up though they may be at times. I know I have this moment. Only this and no other.

We’re all dying. How you perceive things and how you live your life is your choice - do you want to see life quantitatively or qualitatively?

       —————————————————————————————————————-

“A happy woman

Takes the light from the sun and

Wraps it around her.

Her happiness comes

From within, and shields her from

All of life’s despair.

She carries a song

In her heart and dances to

The music of life.

She takes pride in the

Work of her hands and in the

Love she freely shares.”

Different Ways Of Hurting Somebody

“It was betrayal

When I had him on my mind

and you inside me.”

———————————————————

“When I ran to him,

I ran for love, for passion.

(Sorry I left you) “

——————————————————-

“The reason I stay

Is not because I love you.

It’s all for the kids.”

—————————————————

“Do you want the truth?

You bored me. You nagged. You whined.

You made me hate you.”

————————————————-

“The hardest part was

I loved everything except

What you couldn’t change.”