I prefer red chile over my eggs
and potatoes for breakfast.
Red chile ristras decorate my door,
dry on my roof, and hang from eaves.
They lend open-air vegetable stands
historical grandeur, and gently swing
with an air of festive welcome.
I can hear them talking in the wind,
haggard, yellowing, crisp, rasping
tongues of old men, licking the breeze.
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: 'Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear --
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie--
Perfect passion and worship fed
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
Love draws up passion
through the syringe of the heart,
mind, and soul
Love thrives when love draws.
Beauty of the body
In my eyes;
My mind is dazzled
By the beauty
From your mind…
Aglow with the beauty
In the distance, a small flame,
which warms my heart with a radiant glance through eyes that allow me to look into a soul,
A secret room that only I have been given
the only key to one lock of its kind.
Deep inside is where two hearts caress and passionately kiss
And recite a loves ballad.
A poem with no end but constant new beginnings
as our hearts find new ways of discovering each other
Like the frontiers of a universe with no end, like infinity itself.
Eagerly I scour the skies
For clouds dark and heavy
Awaiting the life giving winds
Pregnant with promises
So many secrets
Shared between you and me
Scorched by the summer heat
I lie withered , almost defeated
Fervently , silently awaiting
On a dull Monday morn
As I stare vacantly forlorn
A sight shocks me out of stupor
The Jacaranda blooming in splendor...
Tresses of vibrant purple
Forming a magnificent spectacle
Ever so gently swaying
Celebrating life, mocking
The scene subtle yet so sharp
Whirls me into a time warp..