She is grown, she is careful
Childhood’s prayers answered:
Time stolen
youth: awaken the forgotten
Find her
She is life, she is freedom
Curious Eyes, Insightful mind
Silly laughs: Come play
youth: explore your horizons
Find her
She is eternal, she is constant
Soul and flesh: harmony
Vibration within
youth: be still
Find her
She is lost, she is missing
Captured in your façade
Heart and breath speak!
youth: come back to the self
Find her!
Finite and boundaryless: A finite life does not allow for bounded thought. Here is to the moments that have inspired and changed. Here is to freeing the mind. Here is to finding reason by being reasonless. This blog is dedicated to my collection of personal and creative writings.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Sao Paulo
Lights off.
She hops onto the counter top
The bright orange walls, portraiture of her childhood, her past.
Deep within the bright sky, her opportunities, her future.
Still.
Her eyes peek through the old apartment’s windowpane.
Yellow, Pink. She anxiously awaits her muses. Orange, Red.
Night.
Reflection.
Blinking skyscrapers calm the chaos of the day, silencing calamities.
Stars shy away their gleam making way for the giants at play.
The symphony of the big city.
Between twinkles and sparkles she finds comfort, reassurance.
She stares at the distance only to find…
Herself.
Friday, June 5, 2009
The question
The whisper of the cold wind brushed her hair away from her collarbone, exposing her ears to humanity’s untold secrets—secrets she did not care for. In the middle of confusion, the brain roams through a labyrinth of memories. Where past collides with future, and all she has is the present.
He was ninety-two.
The perfect balance of the cosmos reflected onto the sidewalk, a twinkling masterpiece trailing her steps as she hides under the dark manteau. Her footprints carefully embossed by the emitting skylight follow her into the coffee shop.
A quiet man with a loud presence. Gone.
The crinkling green neon dictates permission of entry – “open.” She enters her haven, orders, sits. After a thousand goodbyes and sorrowful cries, she craves silence. Thoughts run free from conscience. Knowledge. Humanity’s burden. Only once before had she felt this way: so well acquainted with death, yet so full of life.
It was 1993; she was four years old. As a child, she was spontaneous, allowing her imagination to nurture the creativity that has become so prominent in her adult personality. The queen of her play, she created her kingdoms, slew her dragons, and dreamed of her prince charming. She dipped her cookies in milk, sprinkled her frosted cupcakes, and meticulously ate the head of her animal crackers (their disguise could not fool her; she knew they were from the evil land of the WIDDLE BERRIES). She was naïve, perhaps; nevertheless, she was curious. Whats, Whys, and Hows that never ceased to amaze her parents and challenge her realities.
She wanted to know about how the world worked—the adult world that is. She wanted to know why the sky was blue, where snowmen went, and how come grandma and Lilard (her two month old Shar-pei puppy) had similar skin. She was a fast learner; she could tie her own shoes and spell her own name. Years would pass before she realized the value of not knowing the unknown.
To this day, the haunting question challenges her intellect and chases her sleep away. She suppresses her mind and finds comfort in her cup of Joe. At nineteen, she does not recall why her four-year-old brain was puzzled with the subject. Like most childhood memories, the scenario is fuzzy, but the feeling vibrates, echoes, lives on. Desperation, belittlement, the first steps into her own human distress. Death. Is it true that people die? So there is an end? No happily ever after? Time and Mind had slowly stripped her of her ignorance—a child’s greatest gift. Why do we live to die?
He was ninety-two.
The perfect balance of the cosmos reflected onto the sidewalk, a twinkling masterpiece trailing her steps as she hides under the dark manteau. Her footprints carefully embossed by the emitting skylight follow her into the coffee shop.
A quiet man with a loud presence. Gone.
The crinkling green neon dictates permission of entry – “open.” She enters her haven, orders, sits. After a thousand goodbyes and sorrowful cries, she craves silence. Thoughts run free from conscience. Knowledge. Humanity’s burden. Only once before had she felt this way: so well acquainted with death, yet so full of life.
It was 1993; she was four years old. As a child, she was spontaneous, allowing her imagination to nurture the creativity that has become so prominent in her adult personality. The queen of her play, she created her kingdoms, slew her dragons, and dreamed of her prince charming. She dipped her cookies in milk, sprinkled her frosted cupcakes, and meticulously ate the head of her animal crackers (their disguise could not fool her; she knew they were from the evil land of the WIDDLE BERRIES). She was naïve, perhaps; nevertheless, she was curious. Whats, Whys, and Hows that never ceased to amaze her parents and challenge her realities.
She wanted to know about how the world worked—the adult world that is. She wanted to know why the sky was blue, where snowmen went, and how come grandma and Lilard (her two month old Shar-pei puppy) had similar skin. She was a fast learner; she could tie her own shoes and spell her own name. Years would pass before she realized the value of not knowing the unknown.
To this day, the haunting question challenges her intellect and chases her sleep away. She suppresses her mind and finds comfort in her cup of Joe. At nineteen, she does not recall why her four-year-old brain was puzzled with the subject. Like most childhood memories, the scenario is fuzzy, but the feeling vibrates, echoes, lives on. Desperation, belittlement, the first steps into her own human distress. Death. Is it true that people die? So there is an end? No happily ever after? Time and Mind had slowly stripped her of her ignorance—a child’s greatest gift. Why do we live to die?
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