September

for my birthday month

Chilly September. The doorway to a new season. I could smell the aroma of cinnamon emanating from the pastries when walking by the bakery this morning.

It was in September many yeas ago that my mouth was full of mom’s breast milk. The flamboyant was not blooming in red anymore. The shooting in the battlefield shook the lullaby hovering over my cradle.

September, the genesis of many things in life. I remember the shining smiles carved in the white waves at Vung Tau beach. The giggling by the chayote vine of my grandma in Dalat. The warm eyes of the little girl enlivened by the candlelight lit inside the pigeon-shaped lantern during the full moon festival.

September, the onset of death and decay and deterioration. How many tears I have shed and filled up rivers and oceans. Which one I wonder will be the last to roll into the deep blue ocean.

Where does the Time Go?

Where does the time go? I asked myself the question.

I remember staring at your big blue eyes one evening in San Francisco several autumns ago. How I long to immerse in them. Like swimming in the ocean in ecstasy.

Now your bright smiles shining in the sunshine when we were strolling the beach warmed me up. Amid the chilly ocean breeze. They are my haven whenever I need to be sheltered from the chaotic world.

I have learned to disconnect from the world now and then. To stay alone with my self and my thoughts. To reflect.

I must learn to let go of all sorrows, all worries, my ego, and my self. Till my name is a voided sound. Till my body is but a bag of bones and flesh. Till my world is a deserted world.

How I have suffered, and how I will suffer more. Before all sufferings are gone. Like death is the beginning of a new life. New endeavors. New journey. Or it’s the end of all ends. Perhaps.

All tears will dry off
All flowers will wither
Only the never-born never-to-die
Will shine forever.

The Autumn Scent

The Autumn has come and so have the yellow leaves. I was wandering in the park, picking up the falling leaves here and there, and trying to find a scent of the Fall.

You don’t sweat much thus don’t smell at all, or rather it’s a no-smell scent, yet how I long for a specific aroma of the Autumn. To remember, or to forget and let go.

You’re gone and I can’t find it anymore. I brought home the Autumn spirit instead, while treading on the golden paths painted with layers of yellow leaves stretching far beyond the horizon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was inspired to write this piece after chatting with phibi. I even borrowed a few ideas from his poems.

Journal Entry 11.30.2015

It was raining when I was driving to Los Gatos Medical Center. For an abdomen ultrasound.
I glimpsed the movements of my organs on the screen. Wondering how harmoniously they must work in concert for my body to function well. As a whole.
At one point I heard the sound of oxygen flowing to my left lung. It sounded funny. A lone instrument from my orchestra.

Raining in November
I wish the rain
would cleanse all sorrows,
sins and impurities

So this world would be purified
and its heart prepared
to celebrate the holiday seasons
in love and in peace!

Early Sunday Mornings

7AM Sunday morning. Life is in its virgin state. The air is pristine and sweet. Like a newly bloomed white rose brushed with the morning dew.

I’m lying still in bed listening to the quietness of a tranquil morning. Waiting for real life to begin.

A life where I don’t wander from cubicle to cubicle. Like a zombie.

A life where the canopy is waiting for me. The flowers are singing their rites.The day is competing with the night.

A life where I delight and de-stress. And love and lust. And reflect and rejuvenate.

A life where I’m truly alive.

Today I

Today I re-read Nikki Giovanni’s Love Poems. Springing to mind is the beautiful apartment looking out to the mountain, where we spent countless Sunday mornings reading her poems together. In bed. Years ago.
The sun was twinkling thru the blinds. The verses were dancing in our minds. We were mesmerized by the loves portrayed in the book, and the new love that we shared. They intertwined. As if she was writing about us.
Like the white waves in the ocean, rising and falling now and then, but never out of sight, the ravishing moments that we experienced are forever floating in the deep ocean of our reminiscences.

* Today I is the prompt I got from Poets & Writers