Spring came with a heart heavy,
“The world is in a frenzy,” said he,
His words, however, were in vain,
And the stubborn daisy resumed her reign.
I envy you clouds
I envy you, dear clouds,
you traverse coyly without harm,
towering my lover with the warmest shade,
and here I was in my cavern,
poor of love and pale of hue,
a lass without her lad,
alas.
Sweet pea
Upon hearing his name,
fluttering girlishly in my heart,
the April clouds embraced,
the winds waxed poetic,
and the sweet pea hid her roseate blush.
Moon
Once upon a gloom,
A lady and her moon,
Confessed timidly,
How they both over the sun swoon.
Fate asked my forgiveness
Fate asked my forgiveness for playing cupid; he says the severity of my infatuation was unanticipated. I lie here with the remnants of a broken heart, an organ behind my ribcage inebriated on an addicting storyline, craving with every fiber in my being to be that man’s daisy. How do I forgive fate when I went to sleep thinking I must be out of my mind for fancying a gentleman who’s not made for me?
Some days I hopped from cloud to cloud seeking to sneak a glimpse of his pretty face, and some days I hid inside the daffodil’s cup fearful that my feelings were unchaste in their nature! Where were you, fate, when I sobbed my eyes out after putting an end to a romance tale you stitched with your bare hands? Forgiving you will not give me ’26’ back.
Sunflower and her sun
O Sun, hanging from an April sky, to you I carry this question: how many mornings have you emerged coyly, peering through the fluffs of cloud, wondering if I am taking a stroll toward your beloved sunflower? I have felt your warmth sheltering me with ardent curiosity as I followed the trail to the garden, and I am here to inform you that yes, she reciprocates your feelings.
The sunflower is enamored of her sun. Whenever the white clouds rush to tuck you in their embrace, she wilts a little. The sunflower has confided in me that she is in love spring because it’s the only season she gets to feel your golden rays for longer hours. She’d shun the moon if she could! And if the wild sunflower were to wish anything, it would be for you to be forever towering her with your gleam.
Twenty five springs
Twenty five springs I labored, restless,
My grace and compassion to God is due,
Until a charming lad stripped my lungs breathless,
Ah how sweet the taste of labor if the reward is you!
A beard redolent of sin
He borrowed the darkness of the night and spread the black, starless landscape on his face; serpent-like pair of eyes, and a beard redolent of sin, gunmetal in hue, and fatal to touch. This man is resemblant of a bullet; awaiting me is either a wave of safety after pulling the trigger or a burst of detrimental damages imbued with remorse. So I did what any sane woman would do; any time my fingers itched to stroke his bearded face, I muffled a pen in the crevices of my fingers to bury the urge. And I learned to look away.
Museless
Half cradled by woes,
I bid my muse adieu.
Color-blind, tone-deaf,
Empty of eager,
Lackluster strokes of a pen;
Museless, I write trite,
Days mundane and juxtaposed,
A honey-less tongue,
He slipped,
He slipped,
From my grip,
From my clutch,
And I slipped
Into a coma of numbness.
Paradoxical
I crave his absence and presence all at once,
I know this is paradoxical.
But when he walks with a strut of masculinity,
The aftermath is detrimental!
And when he doesn’t emerge before my eyes,
I cry frantically; I know this is mental!
I declare I hate his beard,
I huff and puff in loud disapproval,
Yet his beard is the same beard I yearn
To stroke; it is so lustfully atypical!
Is this wrong? Is this right?
I swear this is nonsexual!
For a year I played with scenarios,
Until when will this love be hypothetical?
WARS & CALAMITIES 