A boy who loved flowers

I fell in love with a boy who loved flowers.

He could go on and on about his favorite colors and shapes.

His nursery had tiers of flowers that bloomed all season.

He let me in on his secret, how when he smiled the flowers bloomed.

"A little kindness goes a long way.

The creatures of the forest also want a little attention", he said.

We met then once and it got etched into my brain. 

When we departed he said "The same time next week. "

We saw each other a month later.

We planted lavender and prayed upon its bloom.

The times we met after seem to go by as films from view master.

When he departed, we talked about, how the season may be before we meet again.

Soon, I left to see the world, his kindness in my heart.

Always wide-eyed, even the creatures of the wild need a little love. 

His secret became a part of me, like a tattoo, or a fragrance.

I put it in like Meraki on everything I did, everyone I spoke to, every second of my existence. 

Many moons later I met this man, he shared a smile with the boy I knew.

His curly hair, I remember but his sharp nose, I had missed.

Happiness aloud, I hugged him, 

he was gray now, with less smiles, his eyes on the ground.

As I kept looking for the boy in him he said,  

"This is not a love story, you are not a princess. 

Wake up from your dream for there is no magic".

A boy who became a man too soon, shielded he was before.

He made a promise to someone, it was them against the world.

Was it that someone?

Was it the worst in the world that changed him?

Was it the colds of the north?

He was sly at times now. 

All I had to ask him was, "Did it hurt when you were kind?" 

Now the caress is not of love, 

but with the intention to open and hurt.

Bewildered I took him to our spot, 

where the lavender bloomed in the winter.

When he saw his nursery with teary eyes he said, "They are dead".

"The seasons have been harsh on them. 

 All they need is a little care and the secret of the little boy"

Shame

"If you cut me, do I not bleed?

If you hit me, do I not hurt?"

These words have become the shame of my existence. 

I hear a tree falling, the roots are dying.

Aparently, the shameless inhabitants have flown away.

What cause the tree to fall I wonder?

It was not just the thunder but the heavy burden of its branches, 

the sharp leaves that cut the tree.

Oh wonderful were the yesteryear under its shade. 

Safe, guided, giving, the fruits it beared.

In a brink of an eye, I saw monsters rising from the place where safe haven lay.

A year without fruit, the stuborness of its growth that tore the mighty.

Oh I shall blame the roots that have gone astray,

 the branches are dying from your extravance they said.

While we also cry about the cruety of the time,

Lets not forget that the cuts that one closer make are always the deepest. 

Oh how bad were these past year, I may never truly know.  

A shadow of what was, the last smell of this blossoms.

I see a titan suffocating, the branches on ground, no fruits to bear, no shade to give.

There it shall remain, what was once my home, now a place of shame. 

Falling

Bright smiles and introductions were on a roll,

a new town, new friends, new adventure.

There she stood, her smile welcoming.

Something about her stayed with him.

"my hometown is a piece of heaven", said she.

He was in awe of her passion,

Her eyes glistened with spark, it captured him.

Curly her hair, had him entwined

Every day was a delight for him, to see her,

school did not seem too tiresome.

A mole under her right eye traced, 

when she turned her head to ask for pen.

Summers turned to fall, fall turned to winter,

water breaks turned to coffee breaks.

As they both sat in the precipice of the green patch,

basking in the few moments of the sun in cold weather

He stood up, knowing that he could fall 

at any moment, he stood there shading her with his shadow,

His inclinations were steep, the time was running out,

In the cliff of a moment, he said, 

"I think I am falling..." 

Dearest

Nothing matters besides the love you give,
I will sail in the sun and the tumultuous water,
your rage, you burn, the hurt you give,
as long as you call me your dearest.

I shall make excuses for you,
your favorites shall be mine too,
hold my hand, I said, let's see the world,
Won't you let me inside your heart?

In 40 years of us, I have been your companion, 
like the shadow behind you, while you shine in the light.
but you my dearest have forgotten of me,
you facing the light, me a shadow

So I write to you again, as I hold your hand,
plead to you in the name of our many children,
re-hear your story, console you on your misfortune.
I have been your giving well, your only well-wisher.

But I am wary my dearest, my heart is hurt, my bones are frail,
I will still try to walk with you even when you run, 
For I am your shadow, I know nothing else, 
just wait for me, a little more,
we may have 20 more years, give or take, my dearest.

In an hourglass

I live at the lower end of the hourglass

The weight of the bearing sand traps me.

To hold on to anything that matters,

I feel the sand slip through my hands, the harder I hold.

Days turn to months, and months turn to years.

A look through the looking glass,

all I see is the predicament,

inching for wind, drowned, suffocating in the sand.

And the next thing you know, it's the switching of the hour,

I am on the other side, barely breathing from the lifted weight, with no end to the falling sand.

They say, let the time pass, it will heal everything.

My piercing thoughts say, "So it has begun again. Is there a world beyond this hell?"

Anymore

I have visited these memories of ours, time and again.

Each time, I rationalized and retold this story

to me, to others, and to an absent you.

And with retelling, you have morphed into a one-dimensional shadow,

a shell of a person and me a lost dimension, a monotone.

I am blue, it has swallowed the spectrum of everything I was.

I was red, beautiful, and naive.

Affections turned to despair, like wilting red roses, all blue.

But, I have stayed away from the crimson for too long.

It took me years to see, the one truly lost, 

the one truly absent was me.

The one I missed was the marooned me,

If I see that shell of me, I would look into her eyes and say,

today I have decided to let go of the hurt you caused me.

I will not long for you furthermore.

I have seen shades of green, yellow, and lilac, 

so I do not wish to be either red or blue anymore.

Cruel

There I stood, blinded by your words.
All I saw was you, my roads lost.
Hoodwinked, cajoled, lied to, abandoned,
you are cruel.

I have lost you, me, my sense of reality,
judgment, and self-reflection.
All I could do was curse fate,
you are cruel.

In truth, I try to move away, I sever my ties.
Your constant presence, your compassion, 
your many witnesses, and even my better judgment
tell me, "you are cruel"

After all these years, at the cross-road of destiny,
I have been asked to revisit the memory,
I look the way I treated my doe-eyed self,
I speak to myself, you are cruel

In my newfound clarity,
if I am to recommend you,
when I speak my truth, it will echo
YOU ARE CRUEL