The Rainbow

children want
to be taken
to the rainbow
not to find the gold
not to touch
or stroke its colors
not to walk
beneath the arc
but instead
to ride –

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Writer’s Block

Sometimes,
when the words get stuck,
I force them out of me
to tell the silent world
of my fear of losing;
to tell
how scared I am
of people walking out on me,
and of the loneliness
that lurks behind.
But the fickle little things
refuse to rhyme,
so I crumble up the paper
and toss it far way,
leaving myself
sitting here
without a way
to say I’m sorry,
without a way
to ask them
not to leave,
or to beg for them
to stay …

This Language That I Love

It limits us,
they said,
this language that you love.

(I couldn’t nod
or bear to tell them yes.)

We can’t say anything
if we haven’t got the words.

(But have you ever even tried,
and struggled with your tongue
to say and not just speak?)

There is just so much
that’s left unsaid …

(Because you never
search for it
in between the lines.)

… and so many things
that have no names.

(Let me ask –
does the world create the language,
or the other way around?)

It limits us,
they said.
But it frees me,
I responded,
this language that I love.

A Second

Just wait a second,
I’ll be right back. 

You do, you wait.
You don’t turn around
to see the look,
the foreign smile,
the rolling of the eyes.
You don’t say
I love you, or
I’m sorry.
You don’t call out for her
to stop,
you don’t go chasing.
In that feeble moment,
in that fraction of the time,
you decide not to talk,
or run, or cry,
not to step away,
to stand still
for a bit too long.
The moment ticked away
and passed.

You waited
just a second.

On A Rainy Day

On a rainy day
like today
very little can be said.
In loss of words
you simply open the window
and think,
or maybe try not to,
and you wish
tomorrow won’t be wetter.
On a rainy day
like today
you waste away the time,
stare into the clouds,
and you convince yourself
it’s not loneliness
you’re hearing.
It’s just the rain.

Ceiling Lamp

Staring into
a ceiling lamp
is the only thing
that brings you joy.
Babies are crying
down the hallway.
Babies are crying
down every hallway
of this world,
and you can hear
all of them at once.
But you stare
into the ceiling lamp,
and smile
ever so slightly
so nobody notices.
Babies stopped crying,
the silence is shy,
and now they stare at you
staring at the lamp.
They see you smile,
and they too
stare at the lamp
to see
what all of the smiling
is truly about.
While everybody is staring,
the ceiling lamp smiles back
ever so slightly
so nobody notices.

Do You Get Bored of Breathing?

Do you get bored
of breathing –
constantly,
without a stop,
unchangingly?
You don’t grow bored
of being admired,
or praised.
But you do get bored
of people
when they stop being new –
you toss them away.
You never grow bored
of winning,
of feeling good.
You just get bored
of getting up
after you lose –
so you quit,
and you give up.
You don’t grow bored
of being loved.
You get bored
only of loving.
And of thinking,
fighting,
learning.
Growing bored is easy.
Do you get bored
of breathing?