Becoming

 

He called me frivole!

Cold in the wind of winter

I saw the word as a binder,

Hot, bitter, sour in a mug

Frivolous!

He called me addicted!

Flinging and clinging with desperation

The word brought into mind frustration,

Illusion, delusion, necessity are sweet

Addictive!

He called me désolée!

A fading color leaf in autumn

I took the word as utterly forgotten,

In flight and dance of rouge created

Desolated!

 

Childhood

527751_392923544076003_1876454433_n

 

320199_417983854903305_1669753399_n

In the middle of the green fields

I was alone,

I was in reverie

Thinking, dancing, mumbling

Existence was soft

Was as easy as picking scented flowers

Nectar filled plants

Listening to bees

Tasting the grass

Hearing the wind whispering

My dreams of growing up

Got caught up in spider’s webs

And playing games

Was not for wining, was not for losing

Running around

Stealing fruits

The value of goods

Was in sharing

Children on the streets

Jumping in the rain

Building bridges in the mud

The sweet taste of childhood

Lies in its simplicity.

Late mornings

By late I don’t mean 12 

By late I don’t mean oversleeping 

Late mornings 

When your coffee is a must 

When you hurry at each step 

When you grasp for breath 

When you sweat through all your pores

When your taxi is a snail 

Late mornings 

Are uncomfortable 

Late mornings 

Are a reminder 

That society is unforgiving 

That you must, you must, you must 

Damn it, be on time 

Or before time, ahead of time, on top of time

This freaking time concept 

I hate it! 

Time should serve us

We should not be slaves to time 

So I beg you, please!

Whomever you might be…

My boss, my cat, my friend, my dog, my lover

Allow me to be late 

Just for a little while

Cuz you might be me 

And I might be you 

Just give me some time 

To have my late mornings

It’s not a tragedy 

A crime

A drama. 

One day I will kill ‘Time’

And fearlessly, joyfully 

Bury ‘Early’ and ‘Late’