The Poetry Marathon

I am a verser, a rhymer

I believed I am

I considered myself one heck of a verser

But to be one

You have to be a word-miller

At any given instance, situation.

I am not that, I mean, dictionary-wizard, apparently

I could create several poems, verses, rhymes

IF I AM EMOTIONALLY CHARGED.

I could do, at the least, 3 poems simultaneously

If-I-am-emotionally-charged.

Sad, yes. Melancholic, more so

A heartbreak, oh me oh my, a hundred?

Kidding….

Joyous? Wow, what a beautiful world!

Elated? Incredibly eloquent!

And Ecstatic? Simply unbelievable…

So, disembarking from the high horse of

recent events

I am humbly re-introducing myself

trying to be a verser, a poetess

With or without the drama

I am trying to be one hell of a verser, a poetess, a rhymer

I am now you know..in the midst of a tearjerker..

getting there…

Staring at nothing,

lost in her own world

Misty-eyed, glazy

Indefatigable sorrow, unrelenting,

deafening

Silent sobbings

The eyes, the eyes, says it all.

Will there be no let-up?

Will it be a continuing restlessness?

It was half-expected, the excruciating pain,

Yet still she’s hurting.

Unsuspectingly the torrential tears, non-stop

Welcome or not, it’s the relief that’s due her

The outpouring of hurts, pains, aches

The free-flowing saline fluid, unburdening

Loosening the heaviness inside.

At that the dam abated

Just like when it started, unceremoniously

And with it, de-constriction.

A hiatus, albeit temporary,

A relief, a great sigh of relief…

Until the next onslaught…

After the long haul

After the “personal” hurricane,

The mind-boggling scenario

And after, reluctantly, the change of heart

You can honestly say, “it’s too late”.

With so much procrastinating

With so much ‘later-ons’

With multitude of excuses for tomorrow

Yes, it’s too late.

Making it after the nick of time

Ignoring a diamond on hand

Dismissing the pitiful silence,

the non-verbal answers and gestures

Ignoring the importance of the presence

of the magnificent one

Realization came…

Decrying, howling, it’s too late

It’s really too late

Although sugar-mixed or cream-stirred

It will always be black for me

As black as a moonbeams-less sky.

Serve it hot, cold, or in-between

It will always be black, particularly mine

Black as the darkness of the night

Sans stars and the milky way.

No matter how you stir it

And make an eddy

It’s still black, a whirlpool-black

Like a muddied, stagnant canal.

In a mug, or in a cup,

Brewed, or instant, or 2 in a 1

It’s black

Similar to a beclouded sky, with a brewing storm.

In a sip, in a gulp

Whether it’s bittersweet or honeyed or nectar-ed

Or bitter-creamed or milky

It will always be black

Such as a darken tunnel with no sight

of a light at the end.

It will always be black

Ergo, make mine a black, sweet-black

Unfulfilled most, if not all, of your promises

Place her at the last rung of the ladder of your priority list

Despoiled everything of her little happiness and quirkiness

Criticize all of her demeanors,

whether intentionally or just plainly criticize her

for the heck of criticizing.

Laugh at her lapses and mistakes

Be unmindful of her well-being,

disregarding her “not-feeling-good” gripings

Destabilized her thinking process, equilibrium

and sense of oneself

Make every one laugh at her expense

You taketh and taketh and she to giveth and giveth.

And flirt to your heart’s content

In her presence and much more in her absence

Success is in the offing

You just lost her, congratulations!

To breathe

The taste of freedom

from the tentacles that gnawing at the dilapidated heart

To arrest

the tear duct dam

that’s spewing, albeit, sporadic tears of sadness

To rejoice

the abrupt stoppage of a dream

that turned out into a continuous nightmare

To reminisce

if the emotional involvement is still there

together with the continuous trouncing

To be liberated

a breathing spree, free at last

no unnecessary force at the tearducts

nightmares no more, with plenty of Care Bear dreams

And most of all, bereft of the emotional chains

It’s about time…

Happiness trekking in…

Yeah, it’s really been a while

Since this feeling of goodness,

oneness in spirit, at tranquility

It is not to be asked

It is earned, given without being asked to

Respect begets respect

You asked and it will served to you, reluctantly

You don’t yet it will be handed to you without qualms

And (not) vice versa.

Giving respect to one who’s disrespectable

Is quite a dilemma, really

But sometimes it is necessary

To show one’s breeding and a bit of civility

Or common courtesy, perhaps?

Still, respect is the ammunition

Of one who is disrespectful

A dilemma indeed

Why?

Before,

You didn’t know he existed.

He is a stranger, he’s foreign

He’s not on the earth you walked in

Not in the circle you swirled about

You have a life then, living it, enjoying it,

Why?

Why would it be very hard now, to go back

To those happy times and happy places now?

Just because you knew he exists now?

And alive? and kicking?

Still estranged and yet buzzing about?

Who cares? Ha!

No need for repetitious beatings, not anymore

It’s not feasible to continue, not anymore

Not funny to cry your heart out, alone

not anymore

Enough to hope endlessly,

without clear cut promises, not anymore

It’s unbecoming to be branded as feeble-minded and dense

sometimes but not always

Stand up straight. Heads up.

One step backward but two or more steps forward

With conviction and much bravado,

not jelly-kneed, no qualms

So courageous and full of love of one’s self

Declaring to the world…not anymore

Why there’s no room to dream on

And no time for wishful thinking

Why there’s not a chance for life ever after

And no glimpse into the future

Rare will be a breath of cold wind

There will never be another peek at a happy face

Why?

Not even a taste of the afternoon drizzle

Not even a touch of the glorious sun rays

Why?

Taboo at gazing into each other’s eyes

Intense craving, but no more intimate touches, body contacts

No more trysts in the morn, noon or night

No more, nada, zilch

Still at it? Keep asking Why?