A Hike

One fine day, I decided to chase a sunset hike
A place from the list that I can strike (off)
Originally, it was supposed to be at sunrise 
But time flies when you catch up with friends to no one’s surprise

So I was on my way up to the top,
Passed all kinds of creatures on the way to my stop
As stairs, foliage and road meld, nature and man have wrought
 “One foot after the other,” I simply thought

At the top, I took off my mask and cool, crisp air flood my lungs
I looked up to see hues of blues, oranges and pinks as the sun dramatically sets
Then, tiny lights, one by one, building by building, started to dot the city skyline
Whispy clouds, rolling mountains with the bay in the foreground

I took some time to marvel and commit to memory
I smiled and gave an inaudible thanks to the beauty the Creator makes
Yet, there’s something missing, I can’t pinpoint what, and my heart aches

And as I sat down to ponder, the full moon overhead
In the silence, the city and nature and I broke bread.
I instinctively looked to my left,  a thought in the dim
“Ah I see, how nicer this would have been if I did this hike with him”. 

New Year’s First Mistake

"[Redacted], help me" as I closed my eyes
Palpable discomfort, to no one's surprise
Alarm bells going off my head
Amidst kaleidoscopic strobes and music for the dead

Under the weight of another,
In the arms of a stranger
What use are thorns and a stinger
When you are faced with a beekeeper?

"You're beautiful"
"You're cool"
"Relax, babe. Don't be shy"
"You won't know until you try"

Hands - intrusive
Kisses - unwarranted
Limped, light headed, disabled
"You'll get used to it," he whispered

I silently cried, "[Redacted], save me,"
Oh, but really, what use would it be?
He's not here - he's gone forever
Drifting quickly, lost in the ether

First day, first mistake
All I'm asking for is a break
I can't believe I've been deceived -
Although I guess it's a good thing it didn't happen on New Year's eve

In the Morning

The morning welcomes me as it usually does -
With the honking of cars, the loud calls of the barkers littering the streets,
The turning of keys, the slamming of doors and, sometimes, if I’m lucky, complete silence.

Moving flats within the city have not changed this -
Where I am, rarely you will hear any birds sing their trill or the gentle rustle of the trees in the wind - the bustling city is all you will hear.

As I awake to this welcome, I do my best to make sure
That the first words I utter are words of gratitude -
“Thank you” I would whisper in my half-awaken state in spite of what I feel.

“Thank you” in happiness and celebration
“Thank you” when I had a great night’s sleep
“Thank you” when I’m swelling with joy
“Thank you” even if it’s a sleepless night
“Thank you” even if it’s unrestful sleep
“Thank you” even if I woke up with a heavy heart
“Thank you” even if I feel overwhelmed that I want to cry
“Thank you” in anguish and in hopelessness
“Thank you” even when I don’t feel like it
“Thank you” even when there’s nothing to be thankful for

Just, “thank you”

For I know, with each dawning of the sun, I’m given a choice -
To be grateful, to take a stand, to seize the day (for opportunities also arise as I do)
Or, to be bitter and squander what the day has to offer away

For I also know, that each tomorrow is not guaranteed,
One will never really know when one’s candle is snuffed out and by then,
it will be too late.

With the passing of time, you would think you’d get used to the ebbs of ocean of life
And while I long for quieter mornings in another city far away - to the smell of the Bäckerei,
In the arms of another, to the crisp, cool wind, to the forest before me
- and I know, one day, I will -
I will keep moving forward, I will keep on keeping on
As who knows but that I have come to my position for such a time as this?

But until then and even after,
God, I just want to say thank you.

A Love Story in Four Parts

I 16 August 2020

If I were to confess,
All the things I have thought about
I would be coming back home to a mess


II 16 August 2020

I’ve lost the ability to write poems
To write lyrical pieces that can be songs

I haven’t picked up a pen in so long
Or stared at a blank word document
Hoping for words to fill my head

Or for emotions to fill my soul that I can transform -
Into a poem, a painting - a piece of art that I can call my own.


III 16 August 2020

Someone found me cool
When he said it, I thought he was a fool
Who would think that the following -
Sneaking from a party to go home at midnight or 10 in the evening
Changing into jammies and snuggling
Would be considered cool?

He reassured me that I was cool
I looked at him and thought, “He must be a fool”
Because who would think that -
Walking around and looking for a place to sit and chat
Or just hanging around the whole day in our flat
Would be considered cool?

I’m still in disbelief when he tells me I’m cool
At this point, he calls me a fool
Because he tells me things like -
He loves it when we go on food trips or when go on hikes
Or that time when we just went around on our rented bikes
So why would I think that I’m cool?

I wonder why this man finds me cool
When there are plenty of others in the pool
Because I think I’m pretty simple
I love lazy Sunday mornings to sleep in and cuddle
Or that I’ve had any exciting life story worth of prattle
So why would he think I’m cool?

Lastly, he said that he thinks that I’m a fool
And that he doesn’t care if I’m uncool
Because he says he loves me just the way I am -
Even when I become a clam when anxiety is running high
Or when I answer vaguely no matter how hard I try

In spite of all of this,
We have loved and we love each other - very much so.
I love him and he loves me -
And I think that’s pretty cool.


IV 23 December 2021

My dear sweet man is gone
And so were the days when he found me cool.
He bid goodbye one August evening in 2021

A bittersweet end to a poem I wrote
To express how much I love thee, a year ago.