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Imagine A Pillow

magine for a moment even hours if one is capable of having astonishing powers of manifesting, creativity, colour, volume, vivid swoon and swathe lustrous bounty etc.
Etc is a phenomenal word but I’m writing about one phenomenal lady whose brain power is an oasis in a sea of mundanity.

Tale of a Hidden Town

She shared with us a story of a town that remains concealed in the daylight but is revealed at twilight, A town where seekers become sages, A town where mysteries take shape and form, A town where the unusual is separated from the ordinary, A town where the fragrance of its meadows rescues those transitioning into the shadows. We wondered what kept this town hidden during the day. As if she could read our curious minds, She explained that the town was obscured by the elements of the seven seals, Incorruptible seals, Seals of untarnished glory.

Let’s call it quits

I am done trying to win the favors of love,
I am done beseeching the dame fortune,
I am done pleading with the lady luck,
I am done kowtowing to the dictates of father time,
I am done holding on to a faltering hope,
I am done taking refuge in my faith,
I am done wallowing in self-pity and guilt,
I am done wearing my heart on my sleeve,
I am done dreaming dreams.

Lolling in the lap of comfort and luxury
was not meant to be,
Neither meant for me are the reassuring arms of love
Nor the trusting hugs of a friend.

Keep your vigil, whispers of gray –

Keep your vigil, whispers of gray –
Speak of what I do understand.
Assault the evil glare of day;

It doesn’t speak for my heart –
Rather for the city made of stone
Which knows no bounds of hate.

On this day, I’ve fallen apart;
No love for the pieces that remain.
It offers no comfort.

Your neutrality fills me whole;
Share my haven with this mute
Though you are harsh but truthful.

Engage me, oh – whispers of gray –
Until I can bear its façade –
I will bleed for a better day.

Coming from within a rising hedge

Coming from within a rising hedge
  Of voluptuous white oleander –
I sensed a turmoil; one writhe
  Seduced better than before

And within the naked boughs
  Of some palo verde – in a rustle
Of few leaves – I thought I saw
  Among them a potential

So quick and sullen, I almost not
  Deemed it worthy a mention
Until a lone grackle squawked
  That vernal suspicion

Then the wind flirted with a sage
  Whose mane shimmied – fervid –
As if the breath of Earth had encouraged

What a curtain Bisbee has

What a curtain Bisbee has
  That keeps Mexico subdued
And influences the lands
  From which the Sierra was hewn.

What purple folds keep Oaxaca
  As a fortress in the sky
Breaking only in Panama
  To let a vessel dredge by.

No courier have I on hand
  Except the initial breezes that blow
So a whisper I channel into it:
  Give to Colombia my hello.