Two abandoned swings . . .
that said ,
that be between
the moon's shadows ,
are only shadow thin
as close as skin on skin
Just swing and swing holding hands
Holding moonlight's shadowed twin

She smiles while looking at her finger with nothing on it. The ring she bought a year ago was there inside a box.

She will not wear it anymore.

"Ma'am, will you buy these?" the saleslady asked Claire once more.

Claire looked at Edna like asking her help in making a decision.

"Do you want them? Then buy them," Edna's voice is low. She pity her sister but she doesn't want to show it to her.

Claire got her wallet and smiled to the saleslady. "I will," she said.

Tomorrow, they will go back to their province.  Claire will not ask Ron again to give the original wedding ring to her.

Tomorrow, Claire and Ron will wear the sign that they are husband and wife.

"Where is your ring?" I asked upon seeing his finger. It's not there.

"I pawned it," he said. "You know the reason."

I can't say a thing. I just looked at my finger where the ring with the same design is there.

"Actually, I need to borrow yours," he said.

I feel the tightness inside my chest. It's so hard to breathe.

I looked at his eyes while wanting to ask why, but no word came out of my mouth. I can do nothing. The ring came from his family. Now he wants me to look at it as something he still owns.

While trying to control my tears, I took the ring from my finger and gave it to him.

"Thank you," he said while smiling.

I turned my back so he won't see my tears falling...

I realized I have a voice
But when I want to speak
You just covered your ears
Why you're making me weak?

You knew I fell down
But when I tried to stand
You asked me, "Why move on?
No one will hold your hand."

You knew I was drowning
But when I tried to swim
You said, "Go back
and be drowned with him!"

You believed in traditions
That can hurt and ****
What is there in the name
That's not worthy to heal?

A sting to my senses
emptiness resides within
and so I called
and called again

your voice
haunting my memory
your voice
lingers in my head

Voices drowning in sorrow
calling out as if ******
walking over my soul

and so I call
I call no more

.
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's the tears that trickle with radiance through words.
     It's a treasure trove that hides but longs to
     be found.
          It's a book shelved high that wants to
          be read.
               It's the freest of all birds caged but
               unbound...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't beat to the capable strokes of the artist.
     It doesn't pump in the most vibrant of
     colours.
          It doesn't wield a paintbrush to
          translate its thoughts.
               But it can see through the eyes of
               painters...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't conform to the conventional parameters of lyrics.
     It doesn't bind itself to the requirements
     of musical harmony.
          It doesn't follow the conventions of
          genres.
               But it sings its voice loud without
               restrictions of melody...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's an open secret, that whispers in metaphoric codes.
     It's an exploding universe, that merges
     back into galaxies.
          It's a sought after painting, that boasts
          of unfathomable beauty.
               It's an everlasting song, that echoes
               within the poet that embodies...

there's almost always
an ambiguity
between what my words mean
and what my mind intends them to mean.

like, with loving intention, i tell her
i can't praise you enough

she smells a ploy in praise and enough.

she interprets them as
she hasn't done enough to deserve my praise.

then, when i tell her
with age you're maturing in beauty

she takes them to mean
i'm digging at her age
and her beauty is in doubt.

last, but not the least
when i compliment her thus
you've made my life full

she retorts

no more fooling.

As I rise
As I fall

Spinning in my head
pacing through this hall

Shattered walls of thought
Insecure
so distracted

Sending spirit warriors
forth to battle far away

Pacing
Pacing back and forth

My old left
Yes, mine life is new
I am leading it my version
I worry why you mind my fashion
I'm not a Night runner
So why question my manner?
It may,yes frivolous
But I see it fabulous
Me to construct
Humble and instruct
A proud,and authoritative sight
I care not a slight
Not to say fright !
Because I am new
And my old left a day I forgot !