“Listen to me,”
Said the little girl, in confidence.
“I have a voice;
It might be tiny, but never insignificant.
It’s the voice of hope, wrapped in faith,
Believing it shall make a difference,
For the sake of my fellow beings,
Now and in the years to come.”
She lifted her hand,
And raised her voice again,
“Listen to my voice!”
We sat at the corner,
And talked, and talked, and talked
Like an open tap of water.
The words were incessantly uttered.
There in the thick air,
The beverage has evaporated …
But not the words.
Walk the night away,
After the rain has stopped dancing,
Along the watery pathway.
Tell me the story worth revealing,
The truth about the passing day.
About what love has been growing,
In your brightly blue sky.
Has it grown teardrop out of striving?
Or sweat for the lack of supply?
Tell me about what the sun has been hearing,
From the chatterbox birds that fly,
Over the land that has been dreaming,
Of the warmth of May.
Tell me more as I am listening,
Tell me more, you shan’t be shy.
The glass coffee table,
And the orchids
Are heartily hosting
The afternoon sunbeam
In the living room.
They brighten up the lifeless
With their jovial laughter,
And make the shadow jealous
Of their exotic exchange.
A night discourse among the gleam,
Brings out the zeal and makes the countenance beam.
The lights as fireflies from afar, they seem,
Sparkling on the black canvas of our dream.
It’s Monday again.
Time to go for another round,
Wondering what to gain
Among the life mound.
But chunks of advice are always at hand
For anyone in the urge to learn.
Here’s what I wrote while encountering the morn:
The capacity to learn is a gift.
The ability to learn is a skill.
But the willingness to learn is a choice.
Choose wisely and have fun
As long as you roam under the sun.”
A lone lulling lamp in the middle of the lounge
Told two timid armchairs to stand still
While it launched a long lingering lullaby for the three tall tulips
Who were waving at the seven silent square frames on the white wall
As the six family photo frames watched
The rain roaring and running down wildly outside the window in a free fall…
It’s a noisy conversation in tight lips.