The Last Poem I Wrote About You

painting by Naomi Okubo:

The greatness lies in the words.
The scribble of an ink on paper
could easily be what your mind is screaming in your closeted head
or the thumping in your chest.
Why does the brain let us think that it is the heart that is the greater, while all it does is pump blood in our veins, on its own instruction?
Why do I think you are the greatest, when you just told me things I should have known last year, or the year before it?
I should have told myself that I am a caring person
and I am a sweet girl and I dont deserve anyone making any less of it.
I don’t deserve myself making any less of it.
You are different, for not who you are because you are just another lesson on a boring school day.
No, you are different because I thought you could’ve been.
But damnit, you just had to twist your words with your action.

I had a good time while it lasted.
I had a great time while you were there.
And then it was time for us to leave.
You could’ve enjoyed the good bye, been less hasty,
I wouldn’t have minded.
I could’ve complained less.
We are who we are.
You are who you are.
But it was my pleasure that you stopped by.

Painting Courtesy: Naomi Okubo

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Making Up Words

"No one is you and that is your power." —Dave Grohl   artwork by Daniel Segrove:

As I sit there,
looking out of the moving window
I feel all kinds of feelings stir in me.
No, just the melancholic ones.
They overflow through my
eyes.
Just a little.

Just a little
more time I wish
I’d had
She bolted away before
I knew,
she was gone forever.
“It was nice knowing you,”
she said, leaving a
kiss on my cheek
I touched the spot,
“Likewise”
I should have sayed.

Should I have stayed?
Does he care that I left?
I didn’t want to.
All my instincts only ever
wanted to stretch this
affair as long as
it could endure.
But I have seen too
many stories end on a
sour note when
enduring is all that’s left
I wouldn’t let it happen to mine.

I shouldn’t have let it happen.
I shouldn’t have let her go by.
Does she think I don’t care?
She said, “Now I need to run away.”
Did she not care?

If only he knew
running away might kill me
show up as stains on my face
and bruises on my lungs
But some doors need
to be closed behind us.
Maybe we will meet again…
Fate is funny that way…
I hope he remembers me then…

Someday we may meet again.
Let fate work it that way.
I pray she remembers me then.
I hope she remembers me then.

Artwork Courtesy: Daniel Segrove

Guest Post: The Butterfly

She is like a butterfly,
A butterfly that sings,
Who came out of her cocoon,
And spread her lovely wings,
In the shadow of her lovely lady wings,
Is where I saw the beauty of little things.

Her flight is simple and yet it is divine,
And it’s in her eyes where I see the love flow like rhine.
It’s her little dance that makes one ponder
And makes thoughtful men wonder.
It’s not flowers where she sits,
It’s the dreams of many lads which every night she visits.

She needs to be treated gently,
As she is too delicate,
While expressing one’s love for her,
one fails to be eloquent.
Her absence is malady,
Her presence is remedy

She doesn’t live on nectar,
It’s love that she craves.
Not lives does she rescue,
Its souls that she saves.
I don’t know why they call it a butterfly,
While she actually flutters by….

This post is written by Isan Basu. Biker, movie buff, rock fan, happy go lucky, loves acting etc etc.
Artwork courtesy: Cheyenne Illustration

Oh Well.

I won’t lie, I expected it all to work out.

I really thought the bad guy would be it.
I was the classic good chick. He was the classic man-whore.
Turns out, he had his eyes on the other classic good chick.

I really thought that the good guy would do it.
I took one out of the zone. Pushed him to it.
He complied. He complied with everything.
I got bored.

I made up my mind, the older the better.
They mature with age, don’t they? Like wine. I liked them wines.
He was the perfect wine, made me the right amount of tipsy.
I blabbered. He told me I wasn’t old enough to hold my wines.

I thought the funny one would be fun.
He laughed it off.
Oh well, I was kidding too, you know.

I couldn’t make up my mind about the younger one.
His perfect face convinced me.
But my age and wisdom didn’t make me more secure.
Or worldly enough for him. Medieval worldly.

I tried to drown my sorrow with the tortured one.
But sorry boy, I’m not that down in the dumps.

Oh well.
I made my mistakes.

Prose, not a Poem


Stare at the painting. Listen to the music. Watch this movie. Hear that story.
Move yourself to tears.
Soften yourself to passion.
Get inspired. Get motivated. Acknowledge your inner flame. Fuel the fire within. Let that engulf you.
Dance to your inner music. Follow your rhythm.
Strive. Fight. Make the run.
See yourself grabbing at your dreams.
Then see it slipping away. Fleeting.
Smirk. Shrug it off. Run faster.
Sacrifice. Sacrifice. Sacrifice for the greater good.
You stand alone.
Take in the pain. Revel in it. Enjoy it till you are numb.
Cleanse your soul
Continue with the beat in your head.
Don’t look at the sidelines.
They laugh with their masquerades on. Slaves to their own monsters and nightmares.
Let them continue living their false lives.
You cannot be weighed down by the condescending talks. Let it brush you past.
Overcome the obstacles. Take the higher road.
Fall. Rise. Fall again. Fall a million times. Rise a million times. Rise again.
The goal is in sight again.
It is a second away.
Will you let it slip?
 
Photograph courtesy : Sarah Lee