Unspoken

Would I have the courage
To touch your lips with mine
Put into action
The words I utter

Would I have the courage
To tell you
My heart beats your
Name

And time passes like
An ocean through a sieve
As I wait for the day
When I can be with you
And you’d tell me
Your heart belongs
To no one but me

Would I have the courage
To be brave
And stop laughing
And say with a straight
Face
It is you
Only you
And I would wait
Until what’s wrong
Becomes right
And I would wait
When there
Turns into here

Would I have the courage
To whisper
I love you
You’d be beside me
And I would be free.

What's that smell?

Perfume

“You can’t just walk away,” he said not bothering to hide the note of desperation that crept into his voice.

“Watch me,” I said, turning on my heel. That was the last time I saw him.

The scene happened five years ago, I was young and too idealistic for my own good. I have never regretted anything more than uttering those two words to the man I have always loved, and I suspect, will always love.

He wasn’t perfect. He was far from being perfect. He was always late even when I must have explained to him a thousand times why I found tardiness rude. He forgot my birthday every year and anniversaries were nonexistent.

But I love him. I put up with his shit because if I did a cost benefit analysis of my relationship with him, I stood a lot to gain.

He never remembered special occasions, but he made them up as we went along. I would be sometimes surprised with a treat to my favorite upscale restaurant because he said, it’s “Remember to Appreciate Your Girl Day.” He had a day for Holding Hands, Kissing, Pretend It’s Your First Rock/ Dance/Jazz/Classical Music Concert Day and a whole host of made up holidays.

Sometimes, when we have little money left over before payday, we’d share a fast food meal and he always lets me get the first bite on the fried chicken.

Or he’d tell his friends about my achievements at work and you could tell he was proud of me.

There’s also the way he always directs the air con at me when we’re in his car because he knows I like to feel cold in the car.

He loved me, I could tell. He loved me with a passion that ate up his being because we were so good in bed together. You couldn’t fake what he felt for me every time we got freaky between the sheets.

Then one day he came home smelling of some other woman’s perfume.

I warned him about it. I could not tolerate infidelity. It broke apart my parents’ marriage and I told him, I can stand that he was a slob, that he was no good with money, that I had to pick up after him. I could stand the worst habits but I could not stand infidelity.

I told him, if I so much as smell some other woman’s perfume on you, that’s it. We say goodbye.

And it happened. I did not fear it, it was not a prophecy that was fulfilled. I was so secure with what I had with him that I complacently believed he would not wander.
How I regret what I did that day, just walking out without asking for explanations.

I must have counted a million valid reasons for him reeking of somebody else’s perfume.

I replay it in my mind, over and over, like a bad movie on an infinite loop. On my 40th birthday, I decided to seek him out, just to put my mind to rest. I dialed his home number, hoping he’d still be there.

His mother answered the phone and told me he already moved to another house in the suburbs. She gave me his number. Apparently, she did not remember me.

I called him and he said he’d meet me at the park the following Sunday.

I put on a white turtleneck and red shorts and red flats. My hair was pulled back into a soft chignon and I put on light makeup. I wanted his jaw to drop when he saw me.

It was mine that did when I saw him again. His brown hair had flecks of grey and he was now muscular where before he was lean and wiry.

He bussed me on the check and smiled his killer smile.

“Wanna sit?” he asked, leading me to a park bench.

“I’d like to walk,” I said.

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged. I wanted to pull him close and kiss him like I used to do.

“What happened?” I asked, unable to control my tears. “What went wrong?”

He stopped, took both my hands in his and squeezed them.

“I did. I was all wrong for you. I had four other girlfriends when I was with you. That’s why I never celebrated anniversaries and birthdays, so I don’t get them mixed up.” He sounded sheepish. “I was young. I knew better but I was an asshole, I had no excuse.”

I tried to take my hands from his but he held them fast.

“Listen. Listen. The four others knew how things stood, but you. You’re special. I couldn’t bear to let you go. My friends told me I wasn’t being fair to you, but I was selfish. I should’ve been faithful to you. I should have played by your rules. I sickened even my friends. Would you believe, they’re on your side?

“They were afraid I would give you a disease or you would find out from my other girlfriends so they sprayed me with women’s cologne that night. Just to get you out of a bad situation. Because they didn’t have the heart to disillusion you about what we had.”

He was crying and my face felt like it was carved out of stone

“I don’t know what to say to this,” I said. I wanted to cry but tears wouldn’t come.

to an august man, j'aime

Or would you die
The Prince of lost causes
For something
Worth living for

Would you look me
In the eye
And tell me
That hiding in the mountains
Is a life fit for
A Princess

I will walk your
Journey with you
Cry as you vanquish
Sorrow
With the thundering sword
With the lightning hilt

I will crash the waves
At your anger
Over injustices
And malpractices
Because I adore you

I will walk your talk
Let your passion consume me
Let the flames in your eyes
Lick my body an inch
At a time
Guide your hands
To the places you call heaven
In my arms

But would you die
Instead of live
For the hungry children
The widowed orphans
The losses that have no name

Would you be there
Instead of here
Where I need you to be
By my side always
And always
In the rising tide
In the splintered moon
In the June monsoon

I prayed for you
Prayed that you would come
Bid your soul rest
In the comfort of mine
But would you die
When I need you to live?

+++++++++++++


In the years in between
I have come to know
The person beneath the sheen
Of newness
Now I am older
Not much bolder
But definitely wiser

The fresh faced harbinger
Of deadly truths
Has matured
Still a bearer of
Unwelcome tidings
To a race that dares not listen

Not the Messiah
Not Napoleon
Not some great goddess
Demanding adulation

Just a girl in love
With a man in love
With a woman

Just a woman in love
With a man
Adored by a multitude

I’ve seen him before
In my dreams
In my waking hours
Pardon me
Can’t tell the difference
Would want to know
If in the flesh
He could make my heart sing
As loud as it does when
I peer at him from my chair

In the years in between
I learned
To let go
To be ready
For one day
He just might call me.


++++++++++


Leave the pieces behind
The pieces of you they took
The pieces in every nook

I have loved you
When I was in my mother’s womb
Loved you before my eyes
Forsook the beauty of the stars

Take me up and let me fall
Break me, shatter me
Because I would rather be
A fraction of who I was
With you
Than be whole
With a hole in my heart
Alone.


++++++++


Dream
Fly
Till the heavens embrace you
Leap
Throw in the towel
And take this chance

I am real
Real as the rain
That falls mainly on the plain
In Spain

I do not sell seashells
By the seashore
And I am not Moses who
Supposes his posies
Are roses

I play no games
I do not like drama

If I am your dream
Can I wake you
And tell you
You can make your dream come
True

If you were my dream
I’d pinch myself awake
And be sad
That I cannot make
My dream come
True

I hang on to your every word
Not always
But when my heart listens
I see the man
The knight in shining armor
Riding a noble steed
Saving the day
The strong one protecting
The weak

How I wish I was the weak
But I am not weak
I could be stronger than you
I might not need you
But oh, how I want you
I just want you.

Muriel and Seymour (Not Mr. Salinger's)

Canada

It was three a.m. and Seymour was undeniably drunk. He had twelve bottles of low calorie pilsner and a few shots of tequila. He couldn’t walk straight and he’s beginning to see double. He had to piss and figure out which of his friends who had condos nearby would let him crash for the remainder of the night. Even in his inebriated state, he was still conscious of the crap they brainwashed him with against drunk driving. He concedes they have a point; it would be unfair to inflict his bad choices on innocent lives so he better stay put.

He half crawled to the bathroom, he didn’t care if it was for males or females, he just needed to piss. He opened the door and saw two girls in the heat of intercourse on the lavatory. He sobered up faster than you could say beer. One of the girls was…

“Muriel!” he ejaculated then went to the toilets to barf all the alcohol out of his system. The other half of the Sapphic sex scene scuttled, grabbing her wet underpants from under the tap they left running.

Muriel, his wife, looked in on him, her face stony. He never brought her to this bar, this was his cave. He came here during the times they fought, which was becoming more frequent. Yet here she was, under circumstances that made him sicker than the alcohol.

They had two kids, whom he was sure was becoming fucked up from all the domestic uncertainty they saw between their parents. Joan and Jett are sweet kids, they get good grades in the pre-school where they matriculate, they help Muriel out with the chores in their little way and they are wholesome, trouble free kids all round. But they left him cold.

But back to Muriel.

“What the hell was that? Why are you here? You couldn’t even get a hotel room?”

What he saw in the bathroom explained a lot. For starters, it explained why the girls in the bar have been going to the men’s room for the past two hours. He thought his mind was playing tricks on him. Either that or every female in the room was a tranny.

But it made it clear to him why Muriel constantly complains of a headache every time he makes a move on her. He’d been bone dry for almost a year now and it has been suggested in one of their fights when he accused her of keeping him on a tight leash by denying him sex that he engage the services of a prostitute.

Muriel stayed silent, he couldn’t understand why. If she really loved him, she’d try making him understand what the hell it was he saw earlier. But all she said was, “I’ll drive. I didn’t drink. I took a cab to get here.”

Seymour fished his car keys out of his pocket. He was wiping his mouth with a wad of tissues. He was choking on his tears, but he held them back. If she could be this unemotional about the whole thing, so could he. At least that’s what he thought.

They were both silent during the half hour ride to their townhouse near the central business district where Seymour worked for the family corporation. Muriel was a capable driver; he was a crybaby of a passenger. He was thankful for the dark and he didn’t know if it was just the alcohol doing away with his inhibitions. He’d wanted to cry for a long time now and he didn’t mean to but the tears just kept streaming down his face. He kept quiet though.

Muriel parked his Audi tail first into the two car garage. She switched off the engine and unlocked the doors, then leaned back against the seat as if she had no intention of getting out of the car. She stared unseeing out of the windshield into the dark street.

He didn’t get out either. His head was pounding, his heart was beating a loud tattoo he was sure he could hear it in his ears. He was tired and drunk and sleepy, but he wanted to be with her, he wasn’t going anywhere until she assured him things will work out between them.

Seymour fell asleep and when he woke up his watch said seven a.m. Muriel was still in the seat beside him; as if she didn’t move a muscle in the hours they were in the car. The sunlight hurt his eyes. He was hungry, but he wasn’t hungry.

“I’m not mad, Muriel. I just want to know what the reason was behind all that,” he tried to start a conversation with her.

“God, Seymour, when will you stop being such a goddamned saint? What would it take?”

“What would it take to what?”

“To make you realize that this is a mistake, we are a mistake. Can’t you see, you don’t love me, you don’t love the kids but you go on everyday deluding yourself that we’re this happy family? Well, we’re not!”

“Don’t say that! We’re just having problems, but we’ll work it out,” Seymour countered.

“I want an annulment, Seymour. I can’t take anymore. Let me go,” Muriel was losing patience.

“But we love each other…”

“I don’t love you Seymour. I’m in love with a girl who’s in Canada right now and where I mean to be soon. I shouldn’t have married you, I shouldn’t have had kids, I shouldn’t have spent the last ten years trying to be mommy in your Brady Bunch dream,” she said with fire burning in her eyes.

“What was I to you then? Tell me, because I’m too stupid to understand what’s going on,” he said sarcastically.

“You’ll always be the first and only man in my life, Seymour. I don’t blame you for the last ten years. It was my choice to marry you. I shouldn’t have just because you got me pregnant but I did. But I think I’ve already paid my dues and it’s time I lived my life for me,” Muriel said, a note of tenderness creeping in her voice. “You’ve always been good to me and maybe that’s why I picked fights with you and made life difficult for you, so you’d leave me. That thing about last night, I didn’t mean for you to see it. I was going to talk to you properly.”

“If you leave now, there’ll be no coming back,” Seymour said trying to but knowing his statement won’t scare her.

“I know that. God, I know that. I know I’ll get disinherited for leaving you and running away with another girl. But I’ll take my chances,” she said.

“Has it been going on for long?” he asked genuinely curious.

“Can we go inside? It’s going to be a long story and I want to be in the aircon,” Mi requested.

“Sure.” They got out of the car and into their bedroom. The kids were with his parents with whom they visit during weekends.

He took of his shoes and lay on the bed, flinging his forearm across his forehead. He had a grandmother of a hangover, but he wanted to know, get things straight from her. She’d become more difficult to live with as the years went by. She’d go ballistic over the pettiest of things then make up with him, sweeter than honey afterwards. It was enough to drive him up the wall.

“Camille and I were classmates in boarding school. We’ve known each other since we were twelve. She was my first kiss, my first fuck, my first relationship. I always thought I’d end up with her. I never thought there was anything wrong with what we had because I’d often catch my Mom with one of her women friends in the bedroom. Dad left us when I was young and Mom never dated men after that,” Muriel began.

“So why didn’t you? Why’d you get into a relationship with me?” Seymour asked accusingly.

“When I told Mom about it, she hit the roof. I couldn’t understand. She threatened to send me to my grandmother’s and stop sending me to school. I wanted to go to college badly, so I stopped seeing Camille. And she transferred me to another school, this one for boys and girls.

“I met you after college and you weren’t unattractive to me. You made me wonder what it would be like to be with a man. You got me pregnant and at first the task of raising a family distracted me. But doing the same thing everyday, it made me a little crazy. I got back in touch with Camille after Jett was born six years ago. I realized I still loved her and being with her is what would make me happy.

“I bought a plane ticket to Quebec and my bags are packed. I was hoping to talk to you last night but I couldn’t find you. My plane leaves tonight. I hope you don’t take it bad. If you don’t want the kids, I’ll take them. I just wanted to give you that choice. I leave tonight,” she said with a tinge of sadness.

A snore broke her soliloquy. Muriel half laughed. Trust Seymour to sleep through the part where she was going to break his heart. How he escaped her cruelest moments, she’ll never know, yet he did.

Love for this man swelled in her heart as she stared at him curled up in bed with a pillow. He reeked of alcohol and puke, yet she remembered now why she let him near her, why she agreed to commit herself to him for life. Seymour is a good man, she just couldn’t see past the fact that he was not Camille. But she loved her too. Muriel knew she’d have to choose eventually. But it didn’t have to be tonight. She lay on the bed and hugged her husband close.

Colours

Yellow

If you be the sun
If you be the lemon
If you be the sunflower
If you be the pineapple

Let me be the rain
Let me be the sugar
Let me be the plant
Let me be your mother

I had a father
Who is much like your
Nemesis
Who dared not dream
And did not respect
Those who did

I walked in your school shoes
The ones you wished would
Disintegrate

Because I am your mother
The one who bore you
Into this world

You told me, without
Me, you will not be
But I think the shoe is
On the other foot

Who would have thought
My dream would come true
It came true
With you.






Red (To my childhood)

Red the shoes
Red the bag
Red the lips
Red the cheeks
Red the hair
Red the flair

Come back I cry
For my sorrow
Is burning me
To nothingness

Let me go
I plead
I want nothing to do
With how I bleed

Let go
Memories
Pain
Futility
Frustration

I am not alone
But my brothers
My sisters
They are silent
Silenced by the
Weapons of terror
By the cold stare
And the cold heart


Red the sun
Red the moon
Red the stars
Red the scars
Too soon
You were gone.