About Time

“Short as life may be, you always need to breathe. It is the present that counts, the moments you live. So I stop and contemplate until I feel satiated enough with where, and who I am right now. (…) After that pause, I feel right on time, right where I am supposed to be.”

Lost in Translation

Caught between beds, hours borrowed to Night. Torn between people – no rest. Moments rushed. Lost self.   I wish I could split, live fully in many places at once. There is never enough time.

In Passing

Time flies, brushes by, As I sit there – still – watching Clock’s hands turn and tick.

Peaceful Departure

Resting in foliage shadows, I am contemplating the day I have had and what I could do of my remaining hours. I went hiking with my brother – we climbed up to lake Critol. I called my sister and my best friend. I had a great laugh with both of them.

Elder’s Tales

She is smiling at me Proud of what she sees Delighted, moved, elated That I am staying To keep her company.   Nobody is ever that happy to see me She loves me and I love her More than words can say –

I Wanted To Be Therefore I Am

This is a poem – a letter to myself – I wrote about ten years ago. Reading it back today made me smile. I have become the woman I wanted to be then. Twenty-year old me would be proud. This ten-year-older, future version of herself is just like she had envisioned. 

Dripping Apart

Traces of the past have been marked On the rocks freed from the icy touch.   Lying on the ground, restless, aware Her age old body is shrinking, Breaking apart, melting away.

Right Through Me

Very few people see beyond appearances. It takes them forever to see me for who I really am. Here though, right there on screen, you can see right through me. There is no need to read between my lines. I make it clear. My soul is exposed, yet I am serene.

Dive In!

If you find your flower, don’t take her for granted. Don’t think you have all the time in the world to be at her side. Life has its way of escaping you if you don’t make a move.

Belated Awakening

She would be the souvenir of a moment past. Her atoms would be far away, Or long gone, And her charms and petals long withered,

Fleeting Connections

Whoever they were, Whatever they believed, Whatever they told her, She knew She could not get attached.