Motherhood is the only Truth of Life


i__m_in_love_with_a_fairytale_by_minastirith

Hae.mi, every verse is a child of love
As I watch you with your child
I think upon the qualities of your womanhood
Your ancestry and your design upon time

The heart as a gulf, and a bridge and a blessing
I who have experienced so little true joy
Can admire the cherishing of a maternal love
That exceeds in brightness and in sport

The spring’s treasured moments of a young mother
I watch you with your child, as I would the stars
Or holding the Earth in my mind as I would
Imagine life caring for all the galaxies

Hae.mi, so when you think of me, remember
I die at dawn and daybreak, every day
To witness your majesty as a woman and a mother
With no decisions and no receiving, I’ll carry on

So as to die with the morning and the evening
We might support the future in a familiar face
Like your son or the billions of lights
That swim in the hawk-like night

And the swan-like soul of all living things
Those eyes, a little bit like our own,
Those hearts, that feel and hope and love
Like we do, Hae.mi, that is your gift

That I can love you like a father who watches his daughter
Taking care of the world while she travels it
In the years and greetings and journeys
Given to her, and what will live on in her sons

In his daughter, who will one day become a mother…

 

Photo Courtesy.

These long roads


90


These long roads

Ancestors, where did
You lead me? Did you know
That little by little
I would be the one to
Forget sacrifice? To falter

Because I was the one
To be too poor to procreate?
How can it be, that so many
Roads could be erased

My cousins have children
They do so without much thought
Without knowing, Fathers
Grandfathers, I can not
I hold onto everything

I thought that I possessed but
There are no foundations here
No courteous stability, I must
Learn to do without, descendants
They are in the distance

They are not descended from I.

Ballad Before the New Year


9
Ballad Before the New Year

The children sing
In the quiet night
Of the Christmas cheer
In the little square
By the fountain lights
“What joy does your divine
Heart celebrate?”

They chant in whispers sweet
For the lost people
And the clear streams
And the families that know
How to give to each other
The winter wonder
Still holds their hands

As we listen to their
Little voices for a while
“Drink the tranquil water
Hear the antique song
Where your soul meets
With the Universe….”

to my children’s children


The future influences the present just as much as the past.
~ Friedrich Nietzsche

68

on the plateau of high-summer
we discover true signs of life
in the heart-beat of cicadas

in the sun among your sisters
in the heights of kites and populars
something is left there
among the gazing at the stars

walking the dawns of our
luxuriant wings, the creatures
we are still of stone and sling

still yearning for the green fields
tortured on the wheel of existence
we climb the decades like machines
only to enter another night

another Auschwitz, more human morbidity
but in elegy and idyll, there is
perhaps still some clear presence

of our innate goodness before
we are corrupted by the world
our souls still dreams possible mercies
still hovers and hangs over

elusive faiths, temples of art
myths of empowerment, elitism of free-will
not all of us maybe, certainly

only a lucky few, but that’s enough for me
we will still be measured
by descendants, like relics of ancestors
our mothers sacrificed for us but

rejoiced in life’s offering
the time of wisdom is nigh, our metamorphosis
where then, everyone is along

at the heart of the earth
ready to love the star-mangled hours
without contempt for the ruthlessness
of the universe, or the wickedness of man.

Photo courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Policko-471650926

GRATITUDE


47

Open-mouthed we cried for a
Baby-God, for a golden child
To marry the sunsets with the
Lands from which we came!

We cried for our Manifest-love
To be born into a better world
With short-comings and impoverished
We sought to be lifted by

An unknown dream, deeply familiar
And elusive, we gilded the fires
Of creation in our minds until
Pregnancy awoke us from our slumber

And that was it, the greatest day
At least, that is the part we most remember
The Times are Tidy when we feel lucky
To be a Hero for a day to someone.

Who Occupies this Hope?


104

Who occupies this House?
A stranger I to myself must judge –
With unknown quantity of love
For a selfish world, I live in vain?

Who occupies this Stage?
Since no one knows his Circumference –
I would write upon the door
Half my life I owe to circumstance

Who occupies this World?
But bio-programs of newly raised Afternoons
Inhabitants in a half-life pre-defined
But where do the Golden birds assemble?

Who occupies this breeding field?
Must I breed then too, to feel alive –
‘Twas settled long ago I suppose
In some unknown territory of Ghosts & DNA

Until I as a pioneer learned to forget myself
And follow footprints that were made
I found peace, when I learned not to judge.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Blue-Dream-392679827

Conversations Of Children


The tumult in the heart
Waits for answers
Keeps asking real questions
And in the same tone of voice

It whispers, the only answer is love/
These conversations keep starting
And there is only us
The tumult in the heart

Is an eternal equation
Meant for two, like beating the same
With the same meaning of a life
Waiting for news of some Beloved

The tumult in the heart/
Is as old as the world
She converses with every part of
My body, your body, our world

The tumult in the heart
Waits for children to speak
Our children, no one could tell the difference
Whose children these were
For they were hybrids of the new world.

Good Night to the Ideal of Marriage


24

I took a blessing for the flowers
Tightening around me in the night
Like precious fertile years
Lost, to my individuality
Jealous with knots of
Passionate self-interest

Like dust under
An unused wedding gown
Then I followed the day
That turned into lonely decades
The terror of being unable to build building-blocks
Of love, of family, of normalcy

I heard stories that turned into theory
At weddings, of people who never made it
Girls sailing over the blooms of my mouth
I was getting old for watching them
With a hungry face, or a heavy heart
In the end I had disdain for the fragments

Of small affections I accumulated
The cynicism spilled while watching friends
Busy in their nesting frenzies
I took a blessing for the flowers
As you harvested the beauty of your worth
Light and splendor, like sleeping orchids

Woke up in you, when you became a mother
But I wasn’t to be your husband
Nor would I be invited to the holy procession
Of your vault of the power of the bonds that do not die

Long live the unknown machine
Of heart, that I was unable to grow
Into finely meshed lives of stable prosperity.

Inequality


33

This is the secret: these hearts
I held out to you, they weren’t mine
They were all the broken-hearted

All the poets I read, all the wives
I’ve witnessed abused and thwarted
My sensitivity wasn’t mine, it was

My personal reaction to the tragedy of others
I’ve seen, our own obstacles don’t seem like much
It’s this world’s capacity to suffer

That astounds me, that outrages me
The exploited, the underdogs, the innocents
This is the secret: when you want to help the world

You put others first, somehow, for community
Is what binds us together, waiting to be cared for
It’s not only your children that need your help

Meanwhile, we refuse to do more than survive
Our comforts suffice, our legacies are private
After we have inherited so much more
Than they can ever hope to receive.

Wasn’t the Road Filled With Eternal Welcome?


22

Telling you all would take too long
About the wholes and misfortunes
These breakthroughs through errors
A memory more persistent than love

But I’m okay, perhaps our lives
Are no more than the fire’s reflection
Complicated by Plato, flabbergasted by Nietzsche
I must sing the years full of
Sweet abandoned voices

Places I have been, what I have seen
Vulnerable in the public squares
Telling you all would be seriously wrong
We have our special secrets, our wanton surprises
The double anguish, wounds that

Won’t probably ever go away
Prisoners, genuine humble pilgrims
I want no descendents, I want
No shadows in their blood
No more serotonin misfits

Tell you all would mean mourning freedom
And I don’t mind being alone
For in solitude I’m always in ecstasy
Always writing poems to nobody.