Love – Page 19 – One Woman's Quest

Missing

Have you seen her –
the child we lost,
the one who lost herself?

born to a sister
breasts not yet ripe
for motherhood’s call

a passenger
on a perilous ride,
sweetness eclipsed

by a cacophony
of raised voices
the wails of women

helplessly trapped
a smothering drama;
how easily she escaped

slipped from our clutches
found comfort in the streets
preferred coldness of strangers

to the raging fires at home;
lost her to the lure of parties,
an elixir for the empty places,

found her once amongst
the debris of discarded needles
and the haze of sexual reek

the golden halo of youth
now matted clumps of shame
her beauty sunken in shadows

we’d taught her well, it seems –
the art of submission, how to
betray the self, embrace defeat

tried to pick her up, create
a milieu of normalcy, establish
homelike roots, but shams

do not last and she ran again
the echo of her absence a hole
ringing in our hearts, we are

guilt-ridden, apologetic, fear
the power of our inadequacy;
try to forget, justify, cringe

for the child we lost,
the one that got away,
the one that lost herself.

(Image: alwayslonliness.blogspot.com)

No Words

In light of the recent tragedies in the world…

One Woman's Quest

I have no words
that will change your plight.

I cannot undo the past
nor change the course of your life.

I am powerless to rescue,
fix, or uplift you in your time of need.

Please know that I see you,
know that in my heart I weep.

Know that while I empathize
I can never fully understand your pain.

There is no judgment here,
only heartfelt compassion.

When I reach out a hand to you,
wordlessly, it is out of respect.

I believe in you.
I believe in your strength and your courage.

In my silence, know that I bear witness
to the potential that lies within and before you.

I believe in the power of your own love to overcome.
There are no words to define what is possible in life.

(Image: imgarcade.com)

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Heartquake

mind regresses
in the aftershock –
tremors of misspent
devotion reverberate
suffocating debris

teenage hearts
caught in the quake –
a marital schism –
plucked unripe
sweetness battered

I, colourless
abandoned, like
a runner-up in
a beauty pageant
forgotten, flailed

failed as a mother
withdrawn, rattled
psyche exploding
survival a slow crawl
challenges weighty

aligned my burden
with that of another
six adolescents, and
a bi-polar man looking
for female direction

craved the laughter
of children, the sanity
of structures unbroken
dust of the aftermath
clouding sensibility

anarchy rejoices
at lack of clarity
loss of control, dreams
of bliss have no home
when depression rules

retrace steps –
ponder the road
that led to destruction
search for light before
darkness took possession

found a trail of
foundations lacking
fortitude, wrought
with cracks, underlying
angst threatening

the earthquake, I see
as inevitability –
my landscape strewn
with fault lines
corrupt under stress

drama follows the weak
an internal compression
and shifting, uncontainable
wildness – destined to
destroy – breakthrough

(Image: dictionary.reference.com)

You think she’d learn –
collects boyfriends like
other girls amass makeup;
always thrilling at the start
the objectified male’s influence
sticking; believes in commitment
while inwardly protesting
ego creates a scene,
manifests conflict
needs to break away –
heart having leaped
prematurely.

You think she’d learn –
past courtships have
established that infatuation
is the exception: not a trail worth
targeting; where is common sense?
she will not listen, loves the sound
of ‘boyfriend’, is dedicated to desires
of the flesh, blind to problems
balls and chains provoke;
impulse is a good teacher,
she never heeds.

You think she’d learn –
clean slate is not achievable
dramas of the past superimposed
had one too many arse-ended
engagements – needs to minimize
this yearning for affection,
wake up, smash the drive
that invokes mayhem
settle for the institution
of loneliness.

(Image: onehdwallpaper.com)

A Wedding Blessing

(I penned the following poem on the occasion of my son and daughter-in law’s recent wedding celebration. To read more about the ceremony, visit : “Blessing of Interracial Union” )

A son is sweetness and strength and mystery;
here is my son – a gentle soul, kind-hearted
and generous – wasn’t he just a boy, only four
asking his father for work so he could buy me
a pair of earrings: Suns, he said, like you, Mom.

How did that boy, once so caring that he’d save
his treats to share with older sisters, sisters
who would turn around and snub him – he
never seemed to care, accepted it with a shrug
tried again – how is it he is now a man, married?

Always the loyal friend, is he, with an ear for
the downtrodden, offering a hand; I’ve watched
him struggle for independence, study hard,
labour tirelessly, he is a man of vision, a man
with a heart big enough to hold all his dreams.

I want it all, he once told me, eyes focused
on a future only he could see – I read joy
in his countenance, felt pride swelling, knew
this day would come, knew the moment he
first spoke the name Warsan he’d found love.

Warsan, truly good news, precious as the sunrise
her spirit bright, her smile contagious, she is
brilliance, and thoughtfulness, and I could not
have chosen better: a child I can love as my own
a woman our family embraces with open arms

What wisdom can I offer these two, joined
together in love, driven by a commitment
to one another, to family, to shared vision?
Be your best selves, I want to say, approach
anger with tenderness, and pain with warmth

Hold fast to one another in a world that will
challenge you, and know that I will be there
behind you, a rock to your storm, and that
others who have gathered here will do the same
And know, above all, that we celebrate you

Marriage is a vessel, a beginning, an opportunity
It is a bowl in which to place your dreams and hopes
it is a coming together of values, histories, a blending
Let it always be your soft place to land – today
is a new beginning; may this blessing continue.

Marital Dance

We converse in actions,
words inaccessible –
have not been schooled
in dialogues for two.

His clutter spreads,
pronounce’s a kingly
presence, commands
attention, oppresses.

I clean with insistence,
shuffle papers, wipe up
crumbs, assert my right
to co-exist, belittle him.

Once we studied dance;
he learning to lead, I
to follow signals – the art
is lost on us now, our steps

more interference, blocking
an inconvenience, not
a strategy, we are rhythmless
avoidance more tolerable

than the effort it takes to tango.
How did language fail us?
experts now at skirting
delicate issues, retreat before

we speak, pray time will serve
absolve the problem, but only
distance grows in silent cracks
and we converse in actions.

(Image: source unknown)

Contemplating Confinement

Is this clawing essential?
Are we creating a practical life,
a persuasive existence;
or are we restrained by judgments?

Do we value joint holdings,
going places – are we two wheels
pulling this oversized work in progress?

Is there space for support,
to land, and register once
on board – a must-have meeting
of the minds? Or are we cramped,
piece by piece, to each their own –
equals, wrestling with what’s important?

Can I conceive – while pleading my case –
whose rights decide, how we preserve
our assets? Risky when both charges
are unstable: a study in adaptability

a hard trial – requires a negotiation tool
for surfacing needs, to lift us from
our limitations, help us confront
mirrored images, perceptions
battling for imperatives.

Eventually, our laboured intentions
will birth proof of the worthiness
of this journey, that storing family
differences and moving precariously
forward will succeed, if we are committed,
flexible, and willing to co-create.

(Image: aboutyourrelationship.wordpress.com)

Demon Prowler

It stalks – colourless,
soulless, skin of leather,
ears tufted – a demon
predator crouching
in the private places
awaiting bloody attack

A wife reigns in instinct
ignores niggling senses
guards her loyalty –
vaguely speaks to spouse
of fears, accepts a shrug
as compliance, relaxes

Routine a barrier to what
lies within, darkness waiting,
watching – convinces herself
serenity is a state of mind,
while her husband seeks
a more youthful companion

Has plotted his escape –
accomplices secured –
intends to bulldoze
the marriage – feeds
the beast with covert
manipulations, lies

Inexperience lures the
maiden, sandwiched
between his lust and
her hope, willing to risk
precariousness, encroach
on marital privacy, bait

for what lurks there,
impatient for the kill;
but who will fall victim,
whose heart be torn
in irreconcilable pieces
when betrayal strikes.

(Image: mixtapetherapy.wordpress.com)

Tender Hearts Fall

Here’s a boy, tender
and raw, heart exposed
awkward innocence
blocking his intention

Here’s a man, eyes fiery
coals, hands coarse ,
face leather, smoky
words coaxing affection

Here’s a girl, book smart
heart uncertain, romance
a fluttery desire, caught
between the two, torn

The boy averts his eyes
fears she’ll see the raging
in his loins, read obsession
in his longing, reject him

The man takes her hand,
softly traces the outline
of her face; slow, seductive,
draws her into his mystery

She is a two-headed lamb,
ponders the breadth of
the boy’s shoulders, knows
his future is a straight line

Hormones rage at man’s
touch, the way his eyes
devour her, the magical
nuances in his voice

Two paths, she thinks,
two diverging outcomes;
the boy holds himself erect
feels his fate is decided

the man lays his head
in her lap, thick waves
of black thrilling her
skin – a dead-end street

Is it pride that makes
the boy look away, she
wonders, or am I not
good enough – tainted?

She turns to the older
man, smiles, pull him
to her and surrenders,
darkness a familiar place.

(Image: mixtapetherapy.wordpress.com)

Hatched

She’s in the kitchen
cleaning, prepping
sweetness; wishes

to nurture childlike
longings – sugar laden
gifts, honeyed chops

hooks her men with
culinary preciseness
as legend prescribes

wants a strong, reliable
type to stir her ovaries
keep her dishing up love

disapproval, like raw egg
drips off her china plates
shame of misadventures
she cannot scrub away

only serves tea now,
the smell of liquor –
mingled with cigarette
and lecherous calloused
hands turns her stomach

avoids the coffee maker
in the same way, despises
the way the bitter brew
makes her head spin –
wits need to be in order

has settled now as hostess
caters to near strangers
whose attention, riveted
by television screens, are

lulled by the rhythmic
sounds of her sanitizing
while eggs cook on stove,
dreams of romance shelved.

(Image: bunnysvintagevictory.blogspot.com)

Category: Love