love lullaby.

cause in time, in time, in time, in time
there will be a moment
when you'll always be mine
when we can always keep pace
and hold onto this wonderful place
oh slow now, honey-pop, sugar-rain
this is not a "heartbeat-fast" race
to the end - no, it's just the beginning.

cause baby, in time, in time, in time, in time,

you'll hold my hand like

you can see into my mind.

we'll be two hearts, one body combined

holding eyes like honey and dew

out from under the something new

into the middle of the great big blue -

oh, no we're climbing - high into the sky.

do-do, do-do, do do do 

yea we're climbing, high into the sky. 

imprint

when you leave, you take this part of me. and all that i have left is this imprint where it was supposed to be. i wish just once you would not just drift into my life, but stay. but now we're older, and my life is getting bolder and the world is turning colder, without you. and i wonder, once or twice, whether this is it. whether you will leave and drift away as free birds do. i think of me without that piece you hold, and think of me as a flower without its petals. you hold the beautiful parts of me. so now, if i ask, would you stay and close your eyes as we run in the rain, and try to feel once again? if we could weather any storm, we could weather this. don't fret, i know this time you'll leave, and this time with one last kiss. maybe in another time, i can tell you that i would have brought you the moon back, if you gave me your love as exchange. i would have burnt my hands holding the stars, all to see them glow in your eyes. maybe in time, the imprint you've left behind will no longer be a shadow, but a soft corner, like fond, cotton-like memories in a dream.

in the palm of my hand.

I hold my home in the palm of my hand.
Its warmth like a sun ray caressing the land.
Diffusing out, like gentle thoughts on the edge
of my mind, like family photographs sliding off the ledge.
Well, when I feel alone, without a comfort in sight,
I hold my home in the palm of my hand
and try to hold on with all my might.
I let it ground me, surround me, and confound me
with lovely illustrations of family and support.
I try to capture the flood of memories,
spilling like grains of sand through my hand.
They rush back and forth, rapids in a gentle river,
as I try to stay afloat.

---

There have been times when I thought I could be strong and stoic: all alone, but not lonely. I thought about the fact that I could cool my heart down, trap feelings under the sense of responsibility and adulthood, and leave behind the memories. I thought I was immune to these feelings of homesickness, but instead, it seems that I am just as susceptible, just as compromised. I miss my family, left behind as I moved forward to find myself again. Though it seems like we are the edges of a map, distance measured in miles upon miles, distance seeming like stretching deserts of molten sand, distance seeming like the unseen other shore of the ocean. But they are not far.

They are not far, I know, for they are in my heart.

-

Disappointment.

Disappointment. It burns like acid down the throat, leaving a dry and bitter taste trailing behind it. 

Failure, too, feels like this to me. Like the after taste of something decidedly unpleasant and foul. I imagine it to be a slow, faded path, traveling leisurely, unknown to its host. It erodes at my insides, carves a beaten path, and wriggles itself into a niche. A niche that will never be gone, forever imprinted on my soul and conscience. I have recently felt this, like a parasite inside of me. It feeds on my sadness, my hard work, and my heart-- leaving nothing but the ruins of my perseverance in return. 


there are simply no lovely words. in fact, were i not now in a state of acceptance, i am sure i could think of some more words that are as blackened, disfigured, and as ugly as this feeling i feel now. to me, disappointment equals the loss of hard work, the loss of my sense of self and confidence. it means questioning who i am, should i be here, and ultimately- have i reached the end of my growth? is this my limit, my stopping point? can i push no further? have i reached my level of incompetence?

away from the sun.

At night, I run out from the house barefoot. I feel the cooling grass under my feet, slightly wet and dewy from the afternoon rains. I feel the damp soil of the earth beneath me, curling in between my toes. I feel rooted then, in this moment, with just me and the moon and the damp, damp earth. I imagine myself cocooned within a tree, wrapped in wispy twigs and the brittle old bark. Encased in the solid oak trunk, feeling more condensed as the number of rings of bark increases with age. The roots, thick and branching, reaching into the cooling earth for some relief from the balmy air of the night. I am bundled, nestled, held, nurtured -- away from the world in this one moment to myself. I can think clearly, I can see clearly, and I can feel without any boundaries. I often think I see the world through different eyes. When I see the stark oak in the expansive field, I do not imagine running freely in the grass. I picture myself as old as the tree, standing still and silent, through storm and tempest, through mother nature's wistful cries, through mother earth's sorrowful trembles. I am rooted, bound, and an innate part of the wondrous world.

The leaves, both green and gold, are reaching towards the sun, but I, I am always looking away from the sun. I much prefer the inside of my sturdy tree, cool and calm and collected.

early august.

a moment of realizing i'm in a different place now, without the usual loving support of my family and familiar faces and friends around me - written in two ways.

(1)

The day ends, with a soft sky

Blanketing the sun, oh my oh my

The world gently slows down

As the sun kisses the ground

Lighting up the sky with lines of colors

The trees, ancient and old, stretch,

Shakily reaching up, to the sun

Their leaves trembling, as the day is nearly done

The cities slumber, dark and stark silhouettes

Stippled across the fire lit expanse

And I, I watch alone

(2)

The day has come to an end. She can tell by the changes in the sky, the way it undergoes a metamorphosis of pigments and hues. This is when the sun kisses the ground, cosseting the world in color as it does so. The light glimmers and shivers, blurring in the august heat.

She pictures the mourning of the trees and flowers, all wanting a moment longing with the sun's glory. Their leaves are shaking, trembling, reaching out to the sky. A lone leaf struggles, but wavers and flutters slowly to the ground. She stands on her balcony twelve stories high, feeling adrift in the sky, feeling shipwrecked on the rush of light and dark caressing the land. Standing still and silent, she feels as though the sun's sweet melody is playing in her mind. Whispering words of how the world turns and how it has aged, once young and green, now turning black and gray with steel.

She shivers, though it is warm outside. The breeze has picked up and is whistling through the trees. And so she hugs herself, and imagines it is a technicolor embrace from the sky.

a man.

a man looks at his wife and thinks, i want to write harmonies about you. i want to strum the stiff strings of a guitar into submission, into a soft croon of all that makes you, you. i want to make a rhythm like the sound of your heart beat when you tell me you love me. i want to write lyrics floating on the edges of a blue jay's wings, soaring through the sky, eclipsing on the sun. let it emanate, glow, like the sweet taste of dew drops on honeysuckle, savored on the tongue like the raspberries that stain your hand. let them entangle like vines on an old schoolhouse, mystify like fog in the morning. so distinct, like the whorls and swirls of her fingerprints, delicate and beautiful when i hold them in my own. i want the sound to echo like the rumbling thunder of a humid summer storm, make you feel the song in your bones like the distinct chill when you're running running in the rain. i want the words to enrapture you, oh my oh my, like lightning striking you. a man looks at his wife, and thinks. if only, if only i could. for now, i shall hold your hand and tell you i love you. i hope that is enough.

homesick.

There are times when I lay down and I feel the softness of the sheets beneath me and the pillow under my head. But, my mind is flittering away, on the edges of an organic notion of timelessness. I feel as though I am a soul without a body, a sun without a sky, diverting my attention from the physical planes of my body and thinking about my mind's place in the world. I feel my body shifting through landscapes, one moment I feel the grass beneath my skin, prickling and irritating and itchy. The sun beaming its warmth over me like a soothing hug, while the breeze lifts my hair and places it lightly on my face. I morph again, shifting from the cocoon of warmth to the freedom of flying through the sky. I feel the air beneath me, my clothes fluttering like useless wings allowing me to float. I feel the clouds condensing around me, a thunder sound in belly of the horizon and a lightning flash from the periphery of my vision. The colors dance underneath my eyelids, and I feel energized. This feeling, this wandering lost feeling, is one I experience late at night, with the thick blackness overwhelming me. I can't see where I am or where I am going.
In this moment, there is this sense of motionless time. I feel in one place, but in another at the same time. In the dark, I can't see where I am, physically, emotionally, mentally. Am I in this new place, with different sounds, smells, and feels? Am I lost between places, between home and change? So, I close my eyes, and I think of myself at home in Chicago. On the couch with my favorite blanket. The sounds of my mother cooking downstairs, my sister upstairs, and my dad walking in the front door -- all soft lullabies of comfort, safety, and belonging crooning in my ear. The smells of a home cooked meal and the crisp air wafting in from the open door that my dad just walked in. Outside the window, snow falls in snowflakes to the ground like small kisses from the sky. In the next instant, I remember I am nowhere near home. I am at my new home, which may be temporary or permanent, and I feel lost and drifting. Will I ever find once again the roots of family and home, when I cannot feel more disconnected from my own? Or will I be forced to find a new location, a new emotional anchor? Perhaps I need a new place to rest my head, where I can listen to the sounds around me and they'll croon to me like a lullaby. And maybe then, during those cold nights, I can shut my eyes and feel truly at rest. Truly at home.

Words

Words are the only comfort in this solitude. I have so much to say, I want to pack all the thoughts swirling in my head in this room. But there's no one to listen to these obscure letters and sounds. So, I twist them around and shape them, wrapping them around my tongue like they're the most succulent of flavors. Sometimes, I believe I can make the world change and morph, sparking with new thought and colors more vibrant than the sun. But, when there is only silence all around me, echoing like a stark canyon in the breeze, I feel the stillness. The words choke in my throat, lump like clumps of sand in my hand, fade like the sun in mourning. I can feel the cold then, spreading from my toes to the tips of my fingers, tingling and stinging like tears on my raw, red cheeks. like icicles freezing in the frigid air. Why can we not go back to the time when our vocabulary was not limited by slang and abbreviations, when poetry was in every syllable like the sweetest scent of honeysuckle in the humid, sticky summer air? Maybe someday, people will talk like they enjoy every word. Making art in their phrases, building sculptures with their voices, or drowning out the static silence with their crescendo of adjectives. I feel the words on my lips, moist and sweet like fresh rain water. It is only time until i find the strength to let them out.

.. leena

Wasted

.
I don't want to waste my time thinking about formulas, chemicals, and body plans. I don't want to waste my time thinking about complaints, pains, casualties, and deep bone aches. I want to let my spirit and soul run free, like children in an open field with the wide blue sky above them. The sun sparkling like champagne, glittering like soft teary eyes. I want the colors to absorb into my skin, forming patches of blended lovely messes. Messes of creativity and imagination and peace.

I don't want to think straight and logical and rational and perpendicular. I want to be organic, free flowing like a river carving its own path on the newborn earth. I don't want to waste my time listening to the droning of judicious voices, when all I feel is this high paced world spinning around me. I don't want to waste my time on high brow attitudes and intellect as my only companion. I want to hear the soft lullaby of the sea, rushes of sound and silence. I want to hear the whispers of legends of places I've never been. When you could discover and feel all that's in your heart, why would you want to cut open a heart and carve out a piece in a sterile silent room?

.. leena

Me.

.
i am a medical student. but i have recently discovered (or rather rediscovered) the power of words and thought. i am trapped in a world of my making, in a world of science and industry, fast and scribbled notes that hardly make sense. in a world of scientific, etiological words like cauda equina and levator ani and pollicis brevis. where we examine bodies and see them as parts, like a mechanic would see a car, (what's out of order, what's not functioning?) instead of looking at symphonies of beauty in every inch of luminous skin, or admiring the glossy undertone of muscles. in a world brimming with the labyrinth of messy words and scalpels and dissecting the human body until all you see is raw aching skin and tired cut down nerves. until you hold each organ in your hand, feeling its weight and density, detached from the fact that this was a person. until you hold a heart in your hand, still and unbeating, changeless and hapless and then, you realize, perhaps you should examine your own heart, feel its weight, and hear its thoughts.

.. leena