November Rain

Mouths of grace open up
so i turn my misty face
to watch a downpour of love

with soaking, wet kisses
the dry earth tenderizes

the meeting of the water and the ground
creates a rhythm that calls for a dance
nature smiles and shivers
and with sweet contentment -
it gives away its fragrance

i hear the leaves hustle
like five-stringed banjos 
the wind makes a coarse whistle
and hums like metal chimes

Creativity = Ctrl + C?

Photo from www.creativehuddle.co.uk

Apologies in advance, my friends

If I'll be raising up a lot of questions and problems

I've been troubled by them last night while in bed

And I also want to know the thoughts in your head

How do we remain creative in times like these

When greater concepts and ideas 

Are only at arm's reach?

How do we develop an entirely new thing

When all's been recycled, rehashed and repeated

Can we just add to it a bling?

How can we draw the line 

Between your idea and mine?

How do we determine originality from mimicry?

When everything is as easy as Ctrl + C.

Is there anything else yet to be done

When the wisest King had said -

There is nothing new under the sun?

Can we really create something new?

When ours is a generation 

Of something borrowed,

Hand-me-downs,

Ripped off and glued?

I see parents encourage their kids

They give them crayons, canvass and paints

They tell them to create something nice

To let their imagination run wild

But when they grow up, a dilemma arises

"Mommy, Daddy, I want to be an artist!"

Oh sweetie, can you think first before you do this?

What about being a doctor, an architect or a lawyer?

A dentist, an engineer or a banker maybe?

I think an artist will only earn nuts from peas!"

From what I'm reading it's great to be creative 

But make sure what you do becomes lucrative. :-(

Hang on a minute, a bird just whispered in my ear

If there is nothing new under the sun

Then should we stop looking for ideas here?

If what we can think of under the sun has already been done

Then should we look above and beyond?

Human wisdom is limited and what we'll conceive - others have seen before

So shall we step out of ourselves and knock on Heaven's door?

The important thing is not to stop questioning.

- Albert Einstein, 1879-1955

4pm in Israel

As soon as we arrived at the Yad Hashmona Kibbutz Hotel, in a village located a few kilometers away from Jerusalem City, we were greeted by the beautiful sunset and I was inspired to write another poem -

A magnificent gradient of red and yellow
A backdrop of shooting colors in the heavens glowed
Slack-jawed in the beauty that I see
I regret every moment when I questioned You if you truly loved me

The orange sun peeking through pillows of clouds
Creates some notions and inner doubts
Is this the sunrise which is the beginning of a new day
Or is this nighttime when all brightness fades away?
Pretty much how Your will works out
Incomprehensible at the start
Questionable in the middle
Unacceptable because I know so little
But a perfect masterpiece once fulfilled and has settled

Father, thank You for sunrises and sunsets
For fulfilled promises and seemingly unchangeable regrets
Thank You for keeping me guessing all the time
What matters now is You, the Creator of the universe, calls me Mine.

The Antidote.

Thumbing through the loose threads at the knees of my trf jeans
I listen to the huskiness of Paolo Nutini’s voice as he strikes a soft G.
I wonder why the neighbour’s dogs have stopped barking
Could it be that they’ve lost their voice?
Or perhaps bashfulness is at their senses’ reach
If only I could sniff just as well...
But maybe they’re also like me
Picking up the pieces
Of whatever’s left of the pellet on the floor
And maybe just like me
Summer is their favourite season
A time of rice cakes and strawberry milkshakes
Sunsets and cheese omelettes
Bicycle rides and ipod tunes
Whistles and stares
(Though I wouldn’t be bothered)
Making dog-ears in my beloved paperbacks
Rendezvous with my polygamous lovers-
There’s Coke after lunch
Ice creams at supper
And Cadbury whenever
Poetic License. Geraniums.Orchids.Daffodils.
Treading barefoot
Along my custom-made valley
A prerequisite for the mountain heights
Whistling on a rainy Sunday
With a drenched cardboard for cover
Listening
Seeking
Waiting
Enjoying
Living for moments that take my breath away...

quid pro quo

Thanks to Mark Knopfler for the inspiration... :)

The soldier took off his armor
Laid down his sword
And examined his wounds
Some scars are fading
Some are just starting to sting
Yet the battle is far from being over.
He gazed at his callused feet
Then at the road ahead
A tear trickled
And slided down his sword
The blade gleamed as liquid touched metal
Everything is traded off....
Fire for pure silver.
Pressure for diamonds.
Sweat for food.
Pain for joy.
Storm for harvest.
Blood for peace.
Tears for strength.
Heartache for wisdom.
Crucifixion for redemption.
Failure for growth....
Death for Truth.

Chiaroscuro

A white sheet of canvass
Hungers for colour
Awakens with the touch
Of running fingertips
Probing with sweet invitations
Gentle promises of forever-
Become a halo on the head
Easy succumbs mix with fear
And smooth shimmers
Tightens and encloses
Grips with salt and muffled cries
Senses reeling, petals tearing
The bottle pops as reverence shatters
And drips of red run down
On the promiser

A white sheet of canvass
Meant for fine sketches
Of chalks and pastels
By palms of immaculate
At a moment of opportune
Is eternally stained
With burning gradients
Of grey passion
Throbs with veiling techniques
In a climax of strokes and shadows
Pulses of black remorse
A heart sore...
No, not beautiful at all

Summer lv

i miss writing...i miss reading literature, i miss midnight rendezvous with my pen and paper, i miss scribbles of cheesy nothings on tissue papers during summer...most of all, i miss being melodramatic...

i hear the sizzle of the heated pavement
i feel the warm breeze gently blowing the ends of my hair
i sense the dampness of the spaces in between my fingers,
it's summer...and it makes me think of you...

i taste the saltiness at the corners of my arid lips,
i find beauty in the glowing sun as it sets at way past six
i take notice of the ubiquitous sounds
made by children's giggles and ice cream bells
it's summer...and it makes me think of you...

i look at the silent changing of the blue clouds
i smell the freshness of the grass in our neighbor's lawn
i listen to the fading melody of faraway guitar strings,
as i catch myself falling into yet another Sunday afternoon reverie
it's summer...and it makes me think of you...

it's summer...let me experience the harsh rays of the sun
let the warmth of the wind beat on my senses,
let the heat consume now...
for i know, soon...it will surely rain on me...