creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, Poems, Poetry, Writings

Winter Oranges

You sit in the garden
swinging to and fro,
a shining sun
brilliant yellow with warmth
brightly painted oranges in your hand
or are they tangerines?
I do not know
for I was not invited
to this winter feast.

You sit with the others,
peals of laughter,
seeds of conversations
leak into my room somehow.
The pulp of the oranges
dripping from your lips
as you discard the peels
dulled by time
turning bitter and dry.

Let them fall to the dirty ground
uncared for and
unnecessary.
I forget their existence, the sun
and the warmth.

I remember us,
the pulp stained lips
and a thirst for never missing such feasts,
where your eyes inch this close to me.
where the breath turns citrus in unison.

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This pandemic has made us work more than before, so for the sake of comfort I revamped my Writing/Work Setup. A mini office for the mini accomplishments .

creative-writing, fiction and poetry, Life, Pandemic, Work from Home, Writings

My Writing/Work Setup

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beauty, Fiction & Poetry, Life, Poems, poetry, Writings

Taste of Insecurity – Haibun

I lie on the ground, the grass is still wet from the fog.
I turn and turn, the rose petals are still shameless, it’s like the dying autumn, massacred by the winter.
I seek you in the dream I always had, near a valley, by the sea, the coral reefs too stubborn to die. Taste that water, the blue elixir. Don’t just leave me with a sense of insecurity, It feels like a packet of cigarettes from a night you cannot remember on your tongue. The seagulls will laugh on a specie with no control over heart. I dream of you for your voice is the dream : subtle, pure and forgiving. The lands of the beach are a sign to find to a spot to sleep when the moon drinks itself to brightness. I turn into a universe that kisses the galaxy. So close but so imagined.

My heart, flower now,
Crush it for the taste once
Touch me tonight ,once.

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creative-writing, Heart, Life, Poems, poetry, Writings

Light

And who do you become?
by swallowing a light deciphered
through a stained glass,
For its crystals are lattices of memory,
that have caressed your ghostly voiceless passages.
It breaks in an afternoon, you never noticed ,
The memory vaporizes
and before you know, it smells as if
someone remembers you in a time you forgot.

Do you become a ghost, savoured by unfiltered light, blinded to the earth by a touch that warms?
Is this how they mix, fear and nostalgia
to a heart that is child to its own and aloof of its lineage?

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beauty, dream, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Art

If all the beauty in the world
ceases to exist someday,
You would still be the unwritten poem for me,
The one I could never finish.

For I fear, that if I do so,
You would be lost forever in this world,
in the unseen books and the untouched pages
and in the hands of all those admirers,
whose fingertips have forgotten,
the art of patience.

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