She.
She is a person.
She is beautiful.
She is smart.
She is kind ..
and she is my friend.
She distracts me by day,
night has brought no relief for I have dreamed of her for seven days.
She talks to me for hours,
even when I'm alone, she calls.
She touches my hand sometimes,
lightly, a soft caress,
and blushes like a blooming rose.
She kisses my cheeks with her petal lips,
strokes my brow and wishes I would speak.
She has hammered at my silence,
forced a crack that has let in emotions, so alien to me.
I am too shy to enter a realm beyond friendship,
too awkward to express my intricate feelings,
and too scared to receive an answer I do not want to hear,
but today I will speak.
I am to see her at midnight and yet I cannot wait,
so I wait upon a bench that gives me full view of her building,
as the bustling street life walks by.
The sun is at its zenith, it seems to hover above me,
but provides me no comfort on this frigid day.
I conjure an image of her, she smiles at me,
looks at me with her loving eyes,
oceans blue, oceans deep.
The scent of mangoes drifts into my nose,
the aroma of her skin of snow.
A river of warmth courses through me,
she has done what the sun cannot.
I hold three roses, for this simple gesture can reveal more than I can ever say.
The hours pass by,
and I do not get tired of waiting,
for the mounting excitement is a pleasurable tension that I thrive in.
The sun starts to set,
there are cars passing by but it is less now.
People walk by and stare at me curiously for many had seen me earlier,
rigid and unsmiling.
The sapphire sky becomes a myriad of colours,
shades of violet clash with fiery orange,
and the blues stand a witness.
Still I sit,
midnight is some hours more.
As the night sets in, the windows of the building are illuminated.
Those with lights standout like fireflies and fascinated, I stare up at hers.
It is now five until midnight,
my rapid pulse, a thousand bull stampede.
Suddenly, her curtains open and there she is,
a silhouette familiar to me.
I feel myself getting warm,
for even her shadow occupies a space within me.
Another silhouette joins her, and my heart almost gives out.
The silhouettes intertwine, until they become one,
and by the light of her window, the meeting of the lips is clear.
I will my tears to ebb, as the crack in my silence slowly stitches itself back together.
My heart full of grief, I watch as the vines wrap around each other for eternity.
I keep the petals on my cheeks ... but leave the stems behind.
As the silhouettes dance in unison,
I walk away in darkness.
TRANSLATION OF இரத்தக் கண்ணீர் (Blood Tears)
Wednesday, 19 March 2014
*This is the translation of the tamil poem, 'Blood Tears'. As it is with translation, it is not always possible to convey the imagery and word play, so while translation is a fairly accurate representation of the original, it does not convey the exact meaning, imagery and word play.
When the sun rises in the sky, the people of this world awaken,
the sun is the roof of this windowless world, that has been forsaken.
When the sun enters its slumber, the moon arrives alone,
the cries of the mind echo without noise and yet one can hear the moan.
I stand on the banks of a river-a river I cannot see,
in this room there is no time, for there is no clock for me.
I sit atop a pomegranate tree, an old man yet a child,
but when I open my eyes, the rubies bleed for my trials.
My four sides surrounded, my visions cry for my kind,
this poem that I write is where I reside within my mind.
As if a statue, I am motionless, inside echoes my screams,
In this hell that I live in, I fear nothing but my dreams.
When the sun rises in the sky, the people of this world awaken,
the sun is the roof of this windowless world, that has been forsaken.
When the sun enters its slumber, the moon arrives alone,
the cries of the mind echo without noise and yet one can hear the moan.
I stand on the banks of a river-a river I cannot see,
in this room there is no time, for there is no clock for me.
I sit atop a pomegranate tree, an old man yet a child,
but when I open my eyes, the rubies bleed for my trials.
My four sides surrounded, my visions cry for my kind,
this poem that I write is where I reside within my mind.
As if a statue, I am motionless, inside echoes my screams,
In this hell that I live in, I fear nothing but my dreams.
இரத்தக் கண்ணீர் (Blood Tears)
Saturday, 8 February 2014
For those who can read Tamil, I do not claim to have perfect Tamil, however I have tried. This is a poem about a person trapped in what seems to be a prison but drifts in and out of imagination. There is some word play in this poem that may be difficult to understand.
வானத்தில் சூரியன், ஆள் நடமாற்றம் கூடும்,
வானத்தில் சூரியன், ஆள் நடமாற்றம் கூடும்,
ஜன்னல் இல்லாத உலகத்தில், கூரை போன்று மூடும்.
சூரியன் தூங்கும் போது, ஒரு குரல் 'நிலா' என்று கூறும்,
மனதின் தனியான அழுகை, சத்தம் இல்லாமல் கேட்கும்.
நதியின் கரையில் நின்றும், ஆறுக் காணவில்லை,
நேரம் இல்லாத அறையில், மணி ஒண்றும் இல்லை.
மாதுளை மரம் மேல், கிழவன் போல் பிள்ளை,
கண்களை திறக்கும் போது, இரத்தம்,கெம்புவின் உண்மை.
நான்கு பக்கம் சுற்றி, என் கனவு கண்ணீர்வடியும்,
இந்த இருட்டில் எழுதும் கவிதை, நான் மனதில் வாழும் இடம்.
சிலைப் போல் நின்று, அசையாமல், பைத்தியம்,
நான் வாழும் நரகத்தில், என் கற்பனைதான் பயம்.
The Lost Land
Thursday, 19 December 2013
*The second last stanza (before the one line, last stanza), is the reverse of the first stanza. The lines are written from bottom to top, instead of top to bottom.
Destined to wander these waters forever,
Destined to wander these waters forever,
I close my eyes once more.
The lost land, a story that I am a part of, it was my home.
I disappear.
I step into the sea and let it caress me in its beckoning arms of water.
The tide came in and the sea took me way,
quenched my thirst but watered my grave, the last survivor .. now gone.
The village on the edge, a poetic past now barren,
screamed of voices, some feet below.
When the last breath was taken, the shadows remained,
there were no memories, for they had been detained.
The gnarled tree, once a sapling, now a wise grandfather of a thousand years,
watched all unfold.
Rooted to its roots, helpless it watched as the people slowly faded into obscurity.
The smell of the sea masks the stench of the tragedies that lie below the lost land,
where the pitter patter of children once echoed.
Sometimes I visit and let my tears flow,
sit in the shade, walk the sands that were once gardens, leaving no traces behind.
I step into the sea and let it caress me in its beckoning arms of water,
I disappear.
The lost land, a story that I am part of, it was my home.
I close my eyes once more,
destined to wander these waters forever.
I'm not sure when I'll visit again.
Jade
Saturday, 14 December 2013
*In Chinese culture, jade pendants can protect the wearer. When white Jade pendants turn green, it means the pendant is protecting the wearer. It likes the wearer if it turns a darker shade of green, every year. I have used this interesting aspect of Chinese culture to write this story. This is a story that deals with racism but also has a message and deeper meaning.
"Excuse me sir, do you have spare change?" begged Corlo to a man as he sat in front of Divine Deli in the blazing summer heat. Begging had become his livelihood, yet as he begged, the sir's and madam's of this world passed by him without so much a glance and it took everything in him not to say, "Listen idiot, give me your money." At the end of the day, someone would drop a few coins in his cup and he would say thanks and maybe even profess how grateful he was for their generosity if they put more than five dollars in his cup. He hoped today would be the last day he begged for money for he had procured a job interview at Broderick and Associates for 6pm. If he could get that job, he would have no need to scrounge around for change and food; he could live the life he once had.
Around 1:30pm, Corlo started to hear the lion like roar of his stomach that desperately craved food. He hadn't eaten all day and hoped he had enough for a couple of sandwiches from Divine Deli. A simple ham sandwich cost two dollars and he needed three to fill his belly so that when he slept at night, the gnawing hunger wouldn't keep him awake. With a sigh, he tipped his cup into his hand and slowly started to count the change. He glanced to his left and saw a short man in a long, black jacket (evidently a high-quality piece, for Corlo had worn a similar jacket in his glory days) and black bowler hat walking towards him. His head was tilted downward as if fearful of being recognized. His pace was rapid and every few seconds he glanced behind him as if wary of people following him. As he passed Corlo, he dropped a wad of bills in front of him. "Use it wisely," the short man said. He did not slow down his stride and continued walking as Corlo stared after him, at loss for words.
There was something familiar about the man who had given him money, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. It took him six minutes to count his money and when he'd finished, he realized the man had left him ten thousand dollars.
He closed his eyes as tears of relief descended down his cheeks and dripped onto the concrete sidewalk he sat on. No longer would he slave on the streets for money, begging people as if he had no right to live. Wu ... unbidden the name floated into his head. It was a name that incited volcanic rage into him but today his name brought a slight smile to his lips, almost smug. He would use his money and regain his former life, that would show Wu ... then he'd come for him. He closed his eyes and his past came back to him.
"My name is the Wu Xi. I come from the China one week ago and have degree in the accounting. I have other qualifications to. I want this job because I come from the China and need to take care of my wife," says Wu innocently in English that was commendable for a man who had been an immigrant for a mere week, yet his honesty did not soften Corlo's resolve.
"Please sir, give me one chance,," says Wu with tears in his eyes. Corlo sees desperation and fear in his pupils yet he does not heed the pleas for he simply does not care.
"Excuse me sir, do you have spare change?" begged Corlo to a man as he sat in front of Divine Deli in the blazing summer heat. Begging had become his livelihood, yet as he begged, the sir's and madam's of this world passed by him without so much a glance and it took everything in him not to say, "Listen idiot, give me your money." At the end of the day, someone would drop a few coins in his cup and he would say thanks and maybe even profess how grateful he was for their generosity if they put more than five dollars in his cup. He hoped today would be the last day he begged for money for he had procured a job interview at Broderick and Associates for 6pm. If he could get that job, he would have no need to scrounge around for change and food; he could live the life he once had.
Around 1:30pm, Corlo started to hear the lion like roar of his stomach that desperately craved food. He hadn't eaten all day and hoped he had enough for a couple of sandwiches from Divine Deli. A simple ham sandwich cost two dollars and he needed three to fill his belly so that when he slept at night, the gnawing hunger wouldn't keep him awake. With a sigh, he tipped his cup into his hand and slowly started to count the change. He glanced to his left and saw a short man in a long, black jacket (evidently a high-quality piece, for Corlo had worn a similar jacket in his glory days) and black bowler hat walking towards him. His head was tilted downward as if fearful of being recognized. His pace was rapid and every few seconds he glanced behind him as if wary of people following him. As he passed Corlo, he dropped a wad of bills in front of him. "Use it wisely," the short man said. He did not slow down his stride and continued walking as Corlo stared after him, at loss for words.
There was something familiar about the man who had given him money, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. It took him six minutes to count his money and when he'd finished, he realized the man had left him ten thousand dollars.
He closed his eyes as tears of relief descended down his cheeks and dripped onto the concrete sidewalk he sat on. No longer would he slave on the streets for money, begging people as if he had no right to live. Wu ... unbidden the name floated into his head. It was a name that incited volcanic rage into him but today his name brought a slight smile to his lips, almost smug. He would use his money and regain his former life, that would show Wu ... then he'd come for him. He closed his eyes and his past came back to him.
Corlo is in his office on the 16th floor, talking with someone through the phone. It's nearly 4pm; he's expecting to interview a person for the job of financial advisor. As a hiring manager, he does his best to weed out those he deems unsatisfactory.
A loud knocking on his office door reaches Corlo's ears. "Come in," he says. The door opens and a man of short stature walks in. He is dressed in blue jeans that look as if it has been washed one too many times. The faded blue matches the crinkled, tucked-in, checkered shirt he wears which speaks of a man that has fallen upon hard times. Around his neck, he has a small jade pendant in the shape of a half-crescent moon on red string and it appears to glow beautifully as if it were snow crystals on which rays of sun reflect and create a twinkling stone. He wears thick, black glasses but what strikes Corlo the most is his squinty eyes that remind him of a bored cat that appears to be sleeping but is truly alert. "I hope you can perform for me tonight, I've been looking forward to it. Lily won't be back for a week," says Corlo into the phone. A soft giggle echoes from the phone receiver and the man that his here for his interview senses that Corlo is having an affair.
"I will see you at 6:00pm at the harbour ... wear the black dress I bought you, I want my women to look good," says Corlo ending the conversation. He now gives his undivided attention to the other man in the room; As he does, he can feel his blissful mood disappearing quickly, for the eyes of the man are the eyes of an Asian man. It was already too much that the law made him respect black people who were roaches that were blessed to be allowed to live on the bottom rungs of society but now the law defined every man, woman and race as equal and that intruded upon his personal beliefs. White is the superior race and the only race meaningful and damned if he was going to hire a Chinese man or whatever those Asian people were called.
He wouldn't have booked this interview if he knew the man was of the Asian variety. Mentally he told himself he would have to tell Charlene, his secretary, to screen out any peculiar sounding names, names that didn't fit with what he liked to call the 'caucasian lifestyle'. He couldn't tell the Asian man that he wasn't getting the job without a valid reason or word might get out, the Channel 13 News might hear about it and it would create a furor that would end his comfortable lifestyle. Everyone was sensitive to perceived slights against races he believed shouldn't have rights and he did not want to stand out like blood on snow.
"Sit down," he says to the Asian man, gesturing at the chair. It was a courtesy he didn't have to extend to the critter but he did. It was his way of showing the Asian man that the white man can give and taketh away.
"Thank you sir," says the Asian man, in an infuriatingly Chinese sounding accent.
"What's your name and why do you want this job?" asks Corlo.
"My name is the Wu Xi. I come from the China one week ago and have degree in the accounting. I have other qualifications to. I want this job because I come from the China and need to take care of my wife," says Wu innocently in English that was commendable for a man who had been an immigrant for a mere week, yet his honesty did not soften Corlo's resolve.
"You have said twice that you came from China. You are giving me information not relevant to what I asked you and your English, well frankly its appalling. Sorry Mr. Wu Xi, you are not going to get this job. Please leave," says Corlo rudely.
"Sir, you haven't looked at resumé. I am very qualified for this job," implores Wu.
"I don't need to see your resumé. You are not what I'm looking for. Now get out of my office before I call security," says Corlo impatiently.
"Please sir, give me one chance,," says Wu with tears in his eyes. Corlo sees desperation and fear in his pupils yet he does not heed the pleas for he simply does not care.
"I'm going to call security," repeats Corlo firmly.
Wu gets up to leave. He knows it futile to argue with Corlo any longer. As he is about to exit the office he turns around and faces Corlo. His face is tear streaked, his eyes are red and he is trembling from what appears to be anger and humiliation. "I will never forget this day. I hope you don't forget it either."
"All I hear is ching-chong-ching-chong. Close the door behind you," says Corlo gruffly.
As Wu leaves, Corlo picks up his phone to call Charlene and in that moment he remembers something odd. The jade pendant on Wu's neck had been snow white when he entered the office ... and yet when he left he was sure it had been a pale green. He ponders this for a moment but a minute later he dismisses any thought about the pendant completely and Wu becomes something of the past for him.
When Charlene picks up her phone, she does not greet Corlo with a warm, "hello" or "how are you sir?". To Corlo's utter surprise she says, "Sir you left the intercom on. I could hear everything you said to Mr. Xi."
"Mind your own business. I wouldn't have had to deal with him if you had done your job and not foolishly thought an Asian was worthy of this company," sneers Corlo. "Remember, my job is to hire but it's not too much of a stretch to say that I can fire you."
"Sir, Mr. Xi ran out of here in tears. I'd like to think you're a good man. Please apologize to him," implores Charlene.
"Don't tell me how to do my job," says Corlo angrily. "You are only a secretary and that's all you'll ever be."
"Very well sir," says Charlene.
Corlo does not respond and after a moment he hears the phone click and knows Charlene is gone. By the end of the day, management informs him that he must vacate the premises by the end of the week. Apparently human resources has received a complaint about his, "inappropriate and unacceptable racist behaviour that goes against what this company stands for" as they put it. As he takes out his last box on the last day that he is allowed to step on company premises, he passes by Charlene. She meets his eyes but quickly looks down and does not say anything. He exits the building and in his mind he utters one word angrily ... 'Wu'.
Two weeks later, his wife discovers his affair and initiates a divorce that drains him financially until he is left with his mistress and the clothes on his back. Yet his mistress finds that Corlo alone is not enticing and leaves him in search of a lover that has money. He is now on the streets and with a cup in his hand, he begs for money. For each coin that drops in his cup, he thinks of Wu. Wu, the man who destroyed him. One day, he will have his vengeance ... one day.
When Charlene picks up her phone, she does not greet Corlo with a warm, "hello" or "how are you sir?". To Corlo's utter surprise she says, "Sir you left the intercom on. I could hear everything you said to Mr. Xi."
"Mind your own business. I wouldn't have had to deal with him if you had done your job and not foolishly thought an Asian was worthy of this company," sneers Corlo. "Remember, my job is to hire but it's not too much of a stretch to say that I can fire you."
"Sir, Mr. Xi ran out of here in tears. I'd like to think you're a good man. Please apologize to him," implores Charlene.
"Don't tell me how to do my job," says Corlo angrily. "You are only a secretary and that's all you'll ever be."
"Very well sir," says Charlene.
Corlo does not respond and after a moment he hears the phone click and knows Charlene is gone. By the end of the day, management informs him that he must vacate the premises by the end of the week. Apparently human resources has received a complaint about his, "inappropriate and unacceptable racist behaviour that goes against what this company stands for" as they put it. As he takes out his last box on the last day that he is allowed to step on company premises, he passes by Charlene. She meets his eyes but quickly looks down and does not say anything. He exits the building and in his mind he utters one word angrily ... 'Wu'.
Two weeks later, his wife discovers his affair and initiates a divorce that drains him financially until he is left with his mistress and the clothes on his back. Yet his mistress finds that Corlo alone is not enticing and leaves him in search of a lover that has money. He is now on the streets and with a cup in his hand, he begs for money. For each coin that drops in his cup, he thinks of Wu. Wu, the man who destroyed him. One day, he will have his vengeance ... one day.
He opened his eyes, wiped his tears and stood up. The wind blew strongly and he clutched his money, fearful it might blow away. A small, white piece of paper danced in the wind and landed on Corlo's lap. He was about to brush it off, when the words 'hit man', caught his eye. He picked up the paper and looked at the writing on it. There was a 10 digit number and the word "hit man" scrawled beneath. Fate, that's what he would call this moment when he wrote his memoirs that only he would read.
There was a pay phone right beside Divine Deli, so he went to it and with a quarter he dialled the number on the paper. On the sixth ring, someone picked up the phone but said nothing. All Corlo could hear was silence and it unnerved him. After a few seconds he decided he would say what he had to say to the silence on the other end of the phone. "I need a man killed." His words seemed to echo ever-so-slightly and for the first time Corlo fully realized what he was about to do. Saying it out loud and hearing his own voice uttering those words made him realize the power he was about to wield with money. He was going to to take a man's life and there would be no returning from this point. His hatred for Wu blinded him to reason and the only logic he saw was his own anger towards a man who had once asked him for a job.
"His name and ten thousand dollars," said a voice through the phone. The utter lack of emotion in the voice stunned Corlo. This was a man who could not care whether someone lived or died for it was his livelihood to play god for money. Like a wolf that decides to hunt rabbits to survive, this man hunted and killed people for sustenance and his heart had become impervious to the human weakness, emotion. "Put both in an envelope. Go to 401 Holland Avenue, you will find an abandoned home. Push open the gate. Walk to the front door. Put the envelope under the doormat at 3:00pm. Leave. He will die by 6pm. Do not look back ... or you will die." The hit man spoke in short sentences, almost robotically. Clearly these were lines he had said time and time again; he was a man who was experienced with his trade.
"How do I know you won't steal my money?" asked Corlo nervously. There was no answer from the other end of the phone. A beeping sound reached Corlo's ears and it was a few seconds before he realized the man had already hung up.
By 2:59pm, Corlo had reached 401 Holland Ave, an old house, seemingly abandoned as the hit man had said. The house was surrounded by a black, wrought iron fence similar to the fences that enclosed graveyards where past victims of the hit man now lay. Although it was summer, the overgrown grass had faded to yellow, dead as this house seemed to be. The house spoke of neglect- from its dirty, grey brick to the roof covered in broken, black shingles as if someone had stomped all over it. The house cast an ominous shadow over the front yard; it truly was the type of house one would associate with the nefarious beings of society thus Corlo felt 401 Holland Ave was not only a place where murderous transactions were conducted but it was also the home of the hit man. Corlo walked quickly up to the front door of the house. In front of the door, a carpet so filthy that it's colour was no longer discernible, lay. Corlo took out a white envelope with the name 'Wu Xi' and ten thousand dollars in cash inside and shoved it under the carpet. Immediately he turned around and walked back towards the gate. He was tempted to look behind him but the hit man's last words rang in his ear, "Do not look back ... or you will die."
As he left the property, he felt a sense of relief. Wu would be dead soon and perhaps then he could find a way to truly get his life on track. He smiled to himself, he had an interview at 6pm at Broderick and Associates. He had 10 years of experience as a hiring manager for Lolland Co., he was certain he could get the same job at Broderick and Associates.
At 6pm, he sauntered into the building of Broderick and Associates with a smug look on his face. He knew he wasn't an important man right now but his luck was about to change. He would rise to the top where he had seen the sun set from a 16th floor window, many years ago.
"Hello madam, I'm here for the hiring manager interview," said Corlo to the receptionist. He noticed her blonde hair, slim figure and her youth and made a mental note of asking her to dinner if he managed to nab this job.
"You must be Corlo, we spoke on the phone. I will show you to the conference room," she said unsmiling. She stood up and gestured forward, "follow me."
When I get my job, I'll hire you to do tricks. I hope licking is one of them, he thought to himself as he stared at her slim figure and her hips moving left, right, left, right almost like music that he could hear through his eyes. They took an elevator to the 31st floor.
"Here we are sir," said the receptionist, interuppting Corlo's sexual reverie. "Please wait inside, someone will be with you shortly."
Corlo pushed open the mahogany doors and stepped inside the conference room. One wall of the room was entirely occupied by glass that afforded a view of the city that even Corlo's 16th floor view at Lolland Co., paled in comparison. In the center of the room was a long glass table that could have seated at least thirty people but despite its vastness, it was empty and impersonal as if it hadn't been used in some time. It was here Corlo waited for his interview.
Two minutes later, a man stepped into the conference room. Corlo glanced over at him and simutaneously a gun shot rang out. It hit Corlo with such an impact that he immediately dropped to the floor but oddly he could not move, not even to convulse in pain. He could not scream for help, all he could do was keep his eyes open and even that was starting to become an effort. A small bullet sized hole remained in the glass, evidence of a sniper of some sort.
The man in the conference room immediately dialled 911. Then for a few minutes, there was silence as Corlo's life slowly slipped away. "I told you to use it wisely," Corlo heard the man say. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was a familiar jade pendant but there was something different about it ... it had turned a dark shade of green.
There was a pay phone right beside Divine Deli, so he went to it and with a quarter he dialled the number on the paper. On the sixth ring, someone picked up the phone but said nothing. All Corlo could hear was silence and it unnerved him. After a few seconds he decided he would say what he had to say to the silence on the other end of the phone. "I need a man killed." His words seemed to echo ever-so-slightly and for the first time Corlo fully realized what he was about to do. Saying it out loud and hearing his own voice uttering those words made him realize the power he was about to wield with money. He was going to to take a man's life and there would be no returning from this point. His hatred for Wu blinded him to reason and the only logic he saw was his own anger towards a man who had once asked him for a job.
"His name and ten thousand dollars," said a voice through the phone. The utter lack of emotion in the voice stunned Corlo. This was a man who could not care whether someone lived or died for it was his livelihood to play god for money. Like a wolf that decides to hunt rabbits to survive, this man hunted and killed people for sustenance and his heart had become impervious to the human weakness, emotion. "Put both in an envelope. Go to 401 Holland Avenue, you will find an abandoned home. Push open the gate. Walk to the front door. Put the envelope under the doormat at 3:00pm. Leave. He will die by 6pm. Do not look back ... or you will die." The hit man spoke in short sentences, almost robotically. Clearly these were lines he had said time and time again; he was a man who was experienced with his trade.
"How do I know you won't steal my money?" asked Corlo nervously. There was no answer from the other end of the phone. A beeping sound reached Corlo's ears and it was a few seconds before he realized the man had already hung up.
By 2:59pm, Corlo had reached 401 Holland Ave, an old house, seemingly abandoned as the hit man had said. The house was surrounded by a black, wrought iron fence similar to the fences that enclosed graveyards where past victims of the hit man now lay. Although it was summer, the overgrown grass had faded to yellow, dead as this house seemed to be. The house spoke of neglect- from its dirty, grey brick to the roof covered in broken, black shingles as if someone had stomped all over it. The house cast an ominous shadow over the front yard; it truly was the type of house one would associate with the nefarious beings of society thus Corlo felt 401 Holland Ave was not only a place where murderous transactions were conducted but it was also the home of the hit man. Corlo walked quickly up to the front door of the house. In front of the door, a carpet so filthy that it's colour was no longer discernible, lay. Corlo took out a white envelope with the name 'Wu Xi' and ten thousand dollars in cash inside and shoved it under the carpet. Immediately he turned around and walked back towards the gate. He was tempted to look behind him but the hit man's last words rang in his ear, "Do not look back ... or you will die."
As he left the property, he felt a sense of relief. Wu would be dead soon and perhaps then he could find a way to truly get his life on track. He smiled to himself, he had an interview at 6pm at Broderick and Associates. He had 10 years of experience as a hiring manager for Lolland Co., he was certain he could get the same job at Broderick and Associates.
At 6pm, he sauntered into the building of Broderick and Associates with a smug look on his face. He knew he wasn't an important man right now but his luck was about to change. He would rise to the top where he had seen the sun set from a 16th floor window, many years ago.
"Hello madam, I'm here for the hiring manager interview," said Corlo to the receptionist. He noticed her blonde hair, slim figure and her youth and made a mental note of asking her to dinner if he managed to nab this job.
"You must be Corlo, we spoke on the phone. I will show you to the conference room," she said unsmiling. She stood up and gestured forward, "follow me."
When I get my job, I'll hire you to do tricks. I hope licking is one of them, he thought to himself as he stared at her slim figure and her hips moving left, right, left, right almost like music that he could hear through his eyes. They took an elevator to the 31st floor.
"Here we are sir," said the receptionist, interuppting Corlo's sexual reverie. "Please wait inside, someone will be with you shortly."
Corlo pushed open the mahogany doors and stepped inside the conference room. One wall of the room was entirely occupied by glass that afforded a view of the city that even Corlo's 16th floor view at Lolland Co., paled in comparison. In the center of the room was a long glass table that could have seated at least thirty people but despite its vastness, it was empty and impersonal as if it hadn't been used in some time. It was here Corlo waited for his interview.
Two minutes later, a man stepped into the conference room. Corlo glanced over at him and simutaneously a gun shot rang out. It hit Corlo with such an impact that he immediately dropped to the floor but oddly he could not move, not even to convulse in pain. He could not scream for help, all he could do was keep his eyes open and even that was starting to become an effort. A small bullet sized hole remained in the glass, evidence of a sniper of some sort.
The man in the conference room immediately dialled 911. Then for a few minutes, there was silence as Corlo's life slowly slipped away. "I told you to use it wisely," Corlo heard the man say. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was a familiar jade pendant but there was something different about it ... it had turned a dark shade of green.
Virane
Friday, 29 November 2013
In the land of Toro, Mira walked slowly through the woods that lay behind her home as her blonde hair fluttered in the breeze. She lived in secrecy, for her father and mother, once King and Queen of Toro, were dead. The Toroks betrayed the throne and anyone who supported her parents was killed ... only she had gotten out alive. It had been a year since she had found her new home, an abandoned cabin evidently unused for many years. It was here she lived in isolation, away from prying eyes that were keen to find the Princess, heir to the throne.
Mira had no real purpose tonight other than to enjoy a leisurely stroll. It was the only luxury she could afford in isolation. Moonlight dimly illuminated her path as the trees made eerie shadows that seemed to beckon her with its dance. Unwillingly, a thought drifted into her mind ... the dance of Virane.
Virane. It was an ancient name, the name of death as spoken by the Larigan people of old. The Larigan race vanished mysteriously thousands and thousands of years ago, yet they still existed in the words of stories whispered amongst those who feared the subtle truths that underlied these fables.
Virane. It was this name that echoed in the deepest pits of her mind as she walked over twigs and leaves, admist the trees that appeared so lovely in daylight but murderous by night. She had heard stories of Virane from her mother but she was never quite sure what it was. It was said that in many ways Virane was death and more; it sought to spread misery wherever it went for nothing more than its own pleasure. Virane was a marked entity, for the sign of the flaming butterfly would reveal its identity. She shuddered at the thought of Virane and fearfully glanced around her as if expecting the shadows to be concealing it.
Suddenly Mira came to a halt. Her voluptuos chest rose up and down rapidly like the wings of a humming bird, as she breathed heavily from fear. She could hear whistling- a pleasant sort of whistling that one might hear from a carefree person. Mira could recognize the tune, Moonstone Jig, a song her father had enjoyed, yet thoughts of Virane lingered in her mind, keeping her fear intact.
For a moment, the whistling ceased and the only sound in the woods was silence itself but it did not last long. A gruff, male voice started to sing the words to Moonstone Jig,
' Out on the rocks there is a glow,
the darkness inside is the river that flows,
the stone of the moon is the creature's show,
dancing a jig, on craters she knows.
Now love ain't a lover, but she warms my stones,
stealing out into the night for all her moans,
the moonstone jig is to set the tones,
for in the morning, I'll be all alone.'
A tear rolled down Mira's cheek but she hastily wiped it away. The song was a reminder of all that she had left behind. It brought her hope and happiness but also a deep longing for the past to be returned to her. Up ahead, a young man walked towards her. He had long, dark hair that covered the nape of his neck and moved in the air like waves. His dark eyes fixated on Mira as he continued to sing Moonstone Jig. He was a fairly tall man but of a stocky build and judging by the streaks of dirt that slightly marred his handsome face, he had been travelling all day long.
"Eyy there pretty lady, don't suppose you know a place where I can stay tonight?" asked the man, grinning.
Mira gazed into his piercing eyes and saw no intent to harm, rather a warmth that she could almost feel on this cool summer night. If he had wanted to hurt her, he would've done so by now; there was no need to create a ruse on the pretense of wanting a place to stay. She had not seen nor heard from a person in more than a year. She yearned for the companionship of another and at this point she may have even considered letting a Torok into her home and thus the look in his eyes was enough for her to decide what she would do.
"I do know of a place," she said carefully. "What is your name?"
"Call me Prons," he said. "Where is this place my lady?" There was no mockery in the flattery he bestowed upon her, rather his words seem to be respectful and genuine.
"I live that-a-way," said Mira, gesturing behind her. "You can stay with me for as long as need be ... and please call me Mira."
"Ahhh Mira," he whispered yearningly as if savouring the last morsel of a delicious meal. "I do not know how long I will stay but the Toroks have taken over my village and I am merely trying to find a place to hide until I can find a safer place. I will do whatever you ask to earn my keep."
"The Toroks are headed this way?" she whispered fearfully.
"I doubt any Torok would dare venture into these woods. I entered for I had no choice." His smile had disappeared and now his expression seemed grim. "No harm shall befall you, I am sure of it."
"Follow me," said Mira abruptly. She did not wish to discuss her fears with a stranger and yet she felt relieved that she had decided he should stay with her. He did after all know of the Toroks coming. She turned around and walked back towards her house, with a whistling Prons in tow. Although she was opening her doors to him, she vowed to never reveal that she was truly Princess Mira. It was one secret she did not wish to share with anyone.
It was after three months of Prons' company that she felt an affection of sorts towards him and it seemed he felt the same way about her. He looked at her lovingly with his dark eyes and his smile smoothed over the sharp edges of stone that her heart had become after being devoid of human contact for so long. Yet there were moments when she glanced at his eyes and thought she might have seen an iciness that only a man of anger could possess, but his kindness towards her pushed all other thoughts out of her mind. Soon Mira and Prons fell in love with each other.
One late evening, she sat in the warmth of Pron's arms, which encircled her protectively. If I we were ever to have a child, I would name it after you, she thought contentedly. She felt happier than she had ever been in the past year. She hoped this peacefulness would last forever.
A noise outside of her home shattered the silence. There was racous shouting and a clanging sound that rang like a bell as if signalling the end of an era. Mira glanced up at Prons and saw that his face had become deathly pale. "What is it Prons?"
"The Toroks are here," he whispered. "Stay quiet, I'm going to try and divert them from here."
"Be careful Prons," Mira said fearfully. Prons nodded as he walked towards the front of the house and as he entered outside to confront the Toroks, Mira noticed that they had grown silent.
Then Prons spoke and what he said made her blood run cold, "The Princess? She's inside."
I never told Prons I was a princess, she reflected as the first wave of pain hit her, nearly sending her into a realm of temporary darkness. It was not a physical pain but rather a burning scar that reeked of betrayal which grew in size until her mind was a pit of ashes.
The Torok barged into the house and took her captive but by then she was too weak to do much. Her mind was still reeling from Prons giving her up to the Torok and thus she did not resist but meekly went along with them. "We killed your mother and your father, Princess," spat a Torok with a jagged scar running down the left side of his face from his eye to his chin. "But we are merciful people. You please us and we will keep you alive." The other Torok guffawed as the Torok with the jagged scar grinned.
Mira said not a word. She was lost in her mind and unable to process what was happening to her. Even when they raped her, she did not scream or fight back, almost as if she had entirely given up. Within a week she was pregnant but that did not stop her captors from continually tormenting her. And as time passed, her heart of smooth stone cracked and eroded until the edges were sharp again.
Nine months after Prons' betrayal, she gave birth to a beautiful, little boy. The Torok named him Grunder and the day after his naming, she fled from the Torok with her son in her hands. She had reason to live now and that reason was Grunder. She wanted him to have a life away from the enslaving eyes of the predatorial Torok.
She wandered far east in Toro until she came upon a village, Quoznak. There, she took refuge in a kind elderly man's house and did chores for him to earn her keep. He died soon after and left her his house; it was here she raised Grunder all on her own. She no longer thought about Prons, for thinking about him would paralyze her and she could not afford to be in such a state- Grunder needed her.
Grunder grew up to be a strong, healthy boy. He had dark hair but he had Mira's forest-green eyes that shimmered like emeralds. On the eve of his 14th birthday, Grunder told Mira he was heading towards the lake. The lake was known as Lake Rhowen and it was on the outskirts of Quoznak. It was a lake frequented by locals during the day for that is when the salmon were most active.
As she gazed after Grunder from the front of her house, she heard a familiar voice that she had not heard in many years. She turned slightly to the left and saw Prons. In that moment, the memory of his betrayal swam up into her mind and with great effort she prevented it from possessing her. She did not want to rexperience that pain- she needed to stay strong for Grunder. The long, dark hair of Prons' that she had loved so much was now short and somehow gave him a more youthful look.
"Are you here to give me back to the Toroks?" she asked, trembling fearfully.
"No, no my dear. You must forgive me for doing what I did all those years ago. I am merely going to the lake, it's a nice evening for a stroll, perhaps I'll run into my son," he said smiling. The smile was not like the smiles that he had once given her out of what seemed to be love. This was a smile that was not quite right, crooked in a way she could not describe and the hint of mockery did not escape her. The man she once loved now terrified her but she had to stop him from going to the lake at any cost for she did not want Grunder to be in danger.
As Prons turned around to leave, Mira saw a strange tattoo on the nape of Prons' neck. She had never seen it before for his long hair had always covered the nape of his neck but now it was visible. It was a small, black butterfly with red eyes that glowed ominously. The wings were adorned with bluish-orange flames, that seemed to pulsate and flicker as if it were real. She gasped as she realized that the stories of Virane were true. This was his mark, she was sure of it. Prons was Virane and she had become his victim.
She blinked and he was gone as if he had vanished into thin air. She knew she had to get to the lake to make sure Grunder was ok. She ran faster then she had ever run along the dirt paths of the village. Her legs ached and her feet hurt but this pain was nothing compared to pain she had felt before, nothing compared to the pain she would feel if she lost her son. She needed more air but the thought of Grunder heightened her urgency and she increased her pace even more.
Eventually she reached Lake Rhowen. The setting sun splayed a myriad of colours that danced across the surface of the lake beautifully. The surrounding trees loomed over her like giants that were angry at her for trespassing on their realm. "Grunder?! Grunder!!" she screamed as she looked around for him. Where is Grunder? I don't see him. As she walked along the grassy banks of the lake, she saw him. He was a few feet in front of her and lying on the grass, almost as if someone had laid him there. The paleness of his face was enough for Mira to know ... Grunder was dead.
Like a stone falling from the sky, she dropped down, lifted Grunder's head into her lap and stroked it affectionately. She weeped for him, weeped for all she had lost and wished her accursed life had never been. Soon the tears dried up and as she stared down at her son, she fondly whispered, "Virane."
As the last rays of sun disappeared, Mira heard laughter. It echoed all around her and she could not tell where it came from but she knew it was Prons ... and he was amused.
Mira had no real purpose tonight other than to enjoy a leisurely stroll. It was the only luxury she could afford in isolation. Moonlight dimly illuminated her path as the trees made eerie shadows that seemed to beckon her with its dance. Unwillingly, a thought drifted into her mind ... the dance of Virane.
Virane. It was an ancient name, the name of death as spoken by the Larigan people of old. The Larigan race vanished mysteriously thousands and thousands of years ago, yet they still existed in the words of stories whispered amongst those who feared the subtle truths that underlied these fables.
Virane. It was this name that echoed in the deepest pits of her mind as she walked over twigs and leaves, admist the trees that appeared so lovely in daylight but murderous by night. She had heard stories of Virane from her mother but she was never quite sure what it was. It was said that in many ways Virane was death and more; it sought to spread misery wherever it went for nothing more than its own pleasure. Virane was a marked entity, for the sign of the flaming butterfly would reveal its identity. She shuddered at the thought of Virane and fearfully glanced around her as if expecting the shadows to be concealing it.
Suddenly Mira came to a halt. Her voluptuos chest rose up and down rapidly like the wings of a humming bird, as she breathed heavily from fear. She could hear whistling- a pleasant sort of whistling that one might hear from a carefree person. Mira could recognize the tune, Moonstone Jig, a song her father had enjoyed, yet thoughts of Virane lingered in her mind, keeping her fear intact.
For a moment, the whistling ceased and the only sound in the woods was silence itself but it did not last long. A gruff, male voice started to sing the words to Moonstone Jig,
' Out on the rocks there is a glow,
the darkness inside is the river that flows,
the stone of the moon is the creature's show,
dancing a jig, on craters she knows.
Now love ain't a lover, but she warms my stones,
stealing out into the night for all her moans,
the moonstone jig is to set the tones,
for in the morning, I'll be all alone.'
A tear rolled down Mira's cheek but she hastily wiped it away. The song was a reminder of all that she had left behind. It brought her hope and happiness but also a deep longing for the past to be returned to her. Up ahead, a young man walked towards her. He had long, dark hair that covered the nape of his neck and moved in the air like waves. His dark eyes fixated on Mira as he continued to sing Moonstone Jig. He was a fairly tall man but of a stocky build and judging by the streaks of dirt that slightly marred his handsome face, he had been travelling all day long.
"Eyy there pretty lady, don't suppose you know a place where I can stay tonight?" asked the man, grinning.
Mira gazed into his piercing eyes and saw no intent to harm, rather a warmth that she could almost feel on this cool summer night. If he had wanted to hurt her, he would've done so by now; there was no need to create a ruse on the pretense of wanting a place to stay. She had not seen nor heard from a person in more than a year. She yearned for the companionship of another and at this point she may have even considered letting a Torok into her home and thus the look in his eyes was enough for her to decide what she would do.
"I do know of a place," she said carefully. "What is your name?"
"Call me Prons," he said. "Where is this place my lady?" There was no mockery in the flattery he bestowed upon her, rather his words seem to be respectful and genuine.
"I live that-a-way," said Mira, gesturing behind her. "You can stay with me for as long as need be ... and please call me Mira."
"Ahhh Mira," he whispered yearningly as if savouring the last morsel of a delicious meal. "I do not know how long I will stay but the Toroks have taken over my village and I am merely trying to find a place to hide until I can find a safer place. I will do whatever you ask to earn my keep."
"The Toroks are headed this way?" she whispered fearfully.
"I doubt any Torok would dare venture into these woods. I entered for I had no choice." His smile had disappeared and now his expression seemed grim. "No harm shall befall you, I am sure of it."
"Follow me," said Mira abruptly. She did not wish to discuss her fears with a stranger and yet she felt relieved that she had decided he should stay with her. He did after all know of the Toroks coming. She turned around and walked back towards her house, with a whistling Prons in tow. Although she was opening her doors to him, she vowed to never reveal that she was truly Princess Mira. It was one secret she did not wish to share with anyone.
It was after three months of Prons' company that she felt an affection of sorts towards him and it seemed he felt the same way about her. He looked at her lovingly with his dark eyes and his smile smoothed over the sharp edges of stone that her heart had become after being devoid of human contact for so long. Yet there were moments when she glanced at his eyes and thought she might have seen an iciness that only a man of anger could possess, but his kindness towards her pushed all other thoughts out of her mind. Soon Mira and Prons fell in love with each other.
One late evening, she sat in the warmth of Pron's arms, which encircled her protectively. If I we were ever to have a child, I would name it after you, she thought contentedly. She felt happier than she had ever been in the past year. She hoped this peacefulness would last forever.
A noise outside of her home shattered the silence. There was racous shouting and a clanging sound that rang like a bell as if signalling the end of an era. Mira glanced up at Prons and saw that his face had become deathly pale. "What is it Prons?"
"The Toroks are here," he whispered. "Stay quiet, I'm going to try and divert them from here."
"Be careful Prons," Mira said fearfully. Prons nodded as he walked towards the front of the house and as he entered outside to confront the Toroks, Mira noticed that they had grown silent.
Then Prons spoke and what he said made her blood run cold, "The Princess? She's inside."
I never told Prons I was a princess, she reflected as the first wave of pain hit her, nearly sending her into a realm of temporary darkness. It was not a physical pain but rather a burning scar that reeked of betrayal which grew in size until her mind was a pit of ashes.
The Torok barged into the house and took her captive but by then she was too weak to do much. Her mind was still reeling from Prons giving her up to the Torok and thus she did not resist but meekly went along with them. "We killed your mother and your father, Princess," spat a Torok with a jagged scar running down the left side of his face from his eye to his chin. "But we are merciful people. You please us and we will keep you alive." The other Torok guffawed as the Torok with the jagged scar grinned.
Mira said not a word. She was lost in her mind and unable to process what was happening to her. Even when they raped her, she did not scream or fight back, almost as if she had entirely given up. Within a week she was pregnant but that did not stop her captors from continually tormenting her. And as time passed, her heart of smooth stone cracked and eroded until the edges were sharp again.
Nine months after Prons' betrayal, she gave birth to a beautiful, little boy. The Torok named him Grunder and the day after his naming, she fled from the Torok with her son in her hands. She had reason to live now and that reason was Grunder. She wanted him to have a life away from the enslaving eyes of the predatorial Torok.
She wandered far east in Toro until she came upon a village, Quoznak. There, she took refuge in a kind elderly man's house and did chores for him to earn her keep. He died soon after and left her his house; it was here she raised Grunder all on her own. She no longer thought about Prons, for thinking about him would paralyze her and she could not afford to be in such a state- Grunder needed her.
Grunder grew up to be a strong, healthy boy. He had dark hair but he had Mira's forest-green eyes that shimmered like emeralds. On the eve of his 14th birthday, Grunder told Mira he was heading towards the lake. The lake was known as Lake Rhowen and it was on the outskirts of Quoznak. It was a lake frequented by locals during the day for that is when the salmon were most active.
As she gazed after Grunder from the front of her house, she heard a familiar voice that she had not heard in many years. She turned slightly to the left and saw Prons. In that moment, the memory of his betrayal swam up into her mind and with great effort she prevented it from possessing her. She did not want to rexperience that pain- she needed to stay strong for Grunder. The long, dark hair of Prons' that she had loved so much was now short and somehow gave him a more youthful look.
"Are you here to give me back to the Toroks?" she asked, trembling fearfully.
"No, no my dear. You must forgive me for doing what I did all those years ago. I am merely going to the lake, it's a nice evening for a stroll, perhaps I'll run into my son," he said smiling. The smile was not like the smiles that he had once given her out of what seemed to be love. This was a smile that was not quite right, crooked in a way she could not describe and the hint of mockery did not escape her. The man she once loved now terrified her but she had to stop him from going to the lake at any cost for she did not want Grunder to be in danger.
As Prons turned around to leave, Mira saw a strange tattoo on the nape of Prons' neck. She had never seen it before for his long hair had always covered the nape of his neck but now it was visible. It was a small, black butterfly with red eyes that glowed ominously. The wings were adorned with bluish-orange flames, that seemed to pulsate and flicker as if it were real. She gasped as she realized that the stories of Virane were true. This was his mark, she was sure of it. Prons was Virane and she had become his victim.
She blinked and he was gone as if he had vanished into thin air. She knew she had to get to the lake to make sure Grunder was ok. She ran faster then she had ever run along the dirt paths of the village. Her legs ached and her feet hurt but this pain was nothing compared to pain she had felt before, nothing compared to the pain she would feel if she lost her son. She needed more air but the thought of Grunder heightened her urgency and she increased her pace even more.
Eventually she reached Lake Rhowen. The setting sun splayed a myriad of colours that danced across the surface of the lake beautifully. The surrounding trees loomed over her like giants that were angry at her for trespassing on their realm. "Grunder?! Grunder!!" she screamed as she looked around for him. Where is Grunder? I don't see him. As she walked along the grassy banks of the lake, she saw him. He was a few feet in front of her and lying on the grass, almost as if someone had laid him there. The paleness of his face was enough for Mira to know ... Grunder was dead.
Like a stone falling from the sky, she dropped down, lifted Grunder's head into her lap and stroked it affectionately. She weeped for him, weeped for all she had lost and wished her accursed life had never been. Soon the tears dried up and as she stared down at her son, she fondly whispered, "Virane."
As the last rays of sun disappeared, Mira heard laughter. It echoed all around her and she could not tell where it came from but she knew it was Prons ... and he was amused.
What it Means to be a Mother ...
Wednesday, 13 November 2013
What it means to be a mother ...
There are not enough words to describe this queen,
she is more than a shoulder on which we lean.
In her nest she sits, while we take shelter under her wings,
and when the tiger shakes the tree, she softly sings.
She doesn't sing a warning, she doesn't show her fear,
she shows us everything is alright, because momma is so near.
She protects us fiercely like a swan on the lake,
and she would give up everything, just for our sake.
We are her children, she governs us with instinct,
and no one will trespass into her precinct.
A mother's love transgresses, it is distinct,
and even when she passes, it is all but extinct.
What it means to be a mother ...
She is there for any situational crisis,
preventing enzymes from taking us via lysis.
She's the one we look up to, because she has a cabinet of spices,
she's doesn't use riddles, like my metaphorical devices.
She gives freely, she doesn't believe in prices,
she advises us of the fate of six number dices.
She celebrates our moments, our cakes full of slices,
she dissipates the darkness that instigated our vices.
She knows how to give, and exceeds what suffices,
she exposes the cloaking of all that entices.
She soothingly applies ointment to the scars we may bear,
she makes it alright and lovingly strokes our hair.
She tells us stories so that we may have imaginations,
she feeds our dreams, to make real our aspirations.
What it means to be a mother ...
From her womb we came, mewling little babies,
created by emotions, crying "please save me".
A woman she is and that's not a question,
she is my mother, and that's a confession.
As her children, we are her obssession,
being a mother, is her fulltime profession.
9 months she bore us, she took on the pain,
and when we were in her arms, she didn't look at us in vain.
She smiled down at us, while we cried in this new air,
she kissed our cheeks and said "there, there."
When we outgrew her arms, she was still our asylum,
bearing our tears with the strength of a xylem.
When she takes care of us, she feels truly content,
and the corners of her lips begin an upward ascent.
The years trickle by, her age in descent,
but her love for her children, is hundred percent.
Her sacrifices invisible, don't know the extent,
"Mother", is a language that I can't hope to attempt.
What it means to be a mother ...
There are not enough words to describe this queen,
she is more than a shoulder on which we lean.
In her nest she sits, while we take shelter under her wings,
and when the tiger shakes the tree, she softly sings.
She doesn't sing a warning, she doesn't show her fear,
she shows us everything is alright, because momma is so near.
She protects us fiercely like a swan on the lake,
and she would give up everything, just for our sake.
We are her children, she governs us with instinct,
and no one will trespass into her precinct.
A mother's love transgresses, it is distinct,
and even when she passes, it is all but extinct.
What it means to be a mother ...
She is there for any situational crisis,
preventing enzymes from taking us via lysis.
She's the one we look up to, because she has a cabinet of spices,
she's doesn't use riddles, like my metaphorical devices.
She gives freely, she doesn't believe in prices,
she advises us of the fate of six number dices.
She celebrates our moments, our cakes full of slices,
she dissipates the darkness that instigated our vices.
She knows how to give, and exceeds what suffices,
she exposes the cloaking of all that entices.
She soothingly applies ointment to the scars we may bear,
she makes it alright and lovingly strokes our hair.
She tells us stories so that we may have imaginations,
she feeds our dreams, to make real our aspirations.
What it means to be a mother ...
From her womb we came, mewling little babies,
created by emotions, crying "please save me".
A woman she is and that's not a question,
she is my mother, and that's a confession.
As her children, we are her obssession,
being a mother, is her fulltime profession.
9 months she bore us, she took on the pain,
and when we were in her arms, she didn't look at us in vain.
She smiled down at us, while we cried in this new air,
she kissed our cheeks and said "there, there."
When we outgrew her arms, she was still our asylum,
bearing our tears with the strength of a xylem.
When she takes care of us, she feels truly content,
and the corners of her lips begin an upward ascent.
The years trickle by, her age in descent,
but her love for her children, is hundred percent.
Her sacrifices invisible, don't know the extent,
"Mother", is a language that I can't hope to attempt.
What it means to be a mother ...
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