Feathers – A Poetic Wish

When you wake up, and open your eyes, I will kiss them again,
For it crossed through all times, to see the summer and rain,
And whispers to my soul that the sky is so beautiful to train
My wings of hope and the dream, beyond the fear in this vein.

The stars look like the shining sand and time like a gentle wave.
What castles we build often, how often they promise to be brave?
Nothing stays, but the dream of the feather that time will crave,
And the song of the distant land that my soul sings when grave.

Now when each chapter gets over and the skin gets wrinkled more,
It’s not a loss, but humble memories that we did make together.
When we meet again, let that light shine upon us and then discover
our tossed feathers that saw all the summer, rain and the winter.

Let there be more hope, and may it be a beautiful and blessed year.

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Isle of Freedom

A thousand lamps floating on water
Like pearls scattered on black drape
With mist wrapped to gift someone
Enough hope to flee for freedom.
Some burn all night, some defy later;
The lamps are like our hearts filled
With memories of the past that moan
And hope to reach the mystery dome.

Beauty beats its wings over this calm
Cuddling water with darkness all around,
To fly beyond the mundane desire
And reach the isle of freedom profound.
I have but apparitions of this unseen isle
And tales that lure to make this flight
And meet those flattering wings around.

There are bushes of yellow and green,
Soft and moist soil to move gentle desire.
There are wings all around beating clean,
Colossal fervors to amuse immortal fire.
Under the oak I loved will sit for awhile
And draw from around to make my home.
I will tread someday among these birds
And meet life on this isle of freedom.

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On the wings of a dead Pelican

This morning when the Sun screeched,
I was standing alone on the shore,
Feeling the cold dead wind from West.
The sand was slippery with sundry weed
Scattered here and there and more.
From far I saw a dead Pelican at rest.

The wings dipped in our errored oil
Had hope like human hearts and soul,
Beating for a flight so needed now.
I like a scarecrow gazed the soil,
The sky so cursed and air so fowl,
To guide gush to this tearful show.

On the wings of the dead Pelican
There is silence so soft, so dark,
Like an epitaph on the sands of time,
The treason kind will hear this rhyme.
I will from here not hope, nor hark
But with patience feed one more Pelican.

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