He wasn’t sure
why
he was hated
by his mother
Surely
she could not have loved him
by all the cursing
and beatings
She wasn’t sure
why
a boy she born
could not be a blessing
Surely
she should have felt the joy
holding him on her bosom
He wasn’t sure
why
the mother and son
could not bond
Surely
they should have been happy
that
the seed was kept
within family blood
I didn’t dream because dreams were far fetched.
You came to fulfill my dreams.
So, I didn’t feel awkward of being ordinary.
You made my ordinary life wonderful.
I didn’t wait because waiting was for fools.
You came to me making yourself a fool.
So, I didn’t feel guilty of being impatient.
You made me see that I was worth waiting for.
Non ho sognato perché i sogni erano inverosimili.
Sei venuto per realizzare i miei sogni.
Quindi, non mi sentivo a disagio per essere normale.
Hai reso meravigliosa la mia vita ordinaria.
Non ho aspettato perché l’attesa era per gli sciocchi.
Sei venuto da me facendoti ridere.
Quindi, non mi sentivo in colpa per essere impaziente.
Mi hai fatto capire che valeva la pena aspettare.
I know there is a wound left
close but not open
I know it is there
but it does not hurt
It has to be very very quiet
when I notice the shadow of it
I only know it is there
becuase you have been nursing it
there is so much care you give
it is oozing out love
from that wound
I want to forget
your birthday
so
there is a chance
I also forget
your deathday
I am wrapped in a little turquoise bubble
with lung full of love filled aqua air
breathing out golden bright sunflowers
lighting up the October azure sky
late Summer surrenders to tangerine charm
so does our love to Autumn’s charisma
A Collaboration of Cassa and Lucy
dark clouds gather overhead as the rolling thunder
sets my soul on fire
lightning brings about the spark
I longed to ignite our flame
overflowing in the depths of my tempestuous heart
my inner sense of desire
yearning for the calm waves to wash over me
ever so gentle rhythmic in unison with my heart beat
the lull of your breathing brings about
a peaceful and serene plateau of joyous abandonment
your voice, so quiet and sublime
echos in the distance far from silent ears
nothing measures up to the peace you grant me
the gentle trickle spring you let in
in painstaking patience
nourishes my weathered heart
unbeknown to you
the frozen particles in my being thaw in your presence
you are the heart and soul of my universe
your spring overflows my cup
There are riches within me
that may not surface in words
Words I utter often in solo, acoustic or quietened sound
Sound is such a gravitating instrument
An instrument appeal to particular ears
There are many dialogues in my head
I swim in my own head and thoughts
never feel the need to voice them
They are neither crazy nor important natured
I enjoy organising them internally in the space between my ears
When I do get to say them aloud
they are simple and in plain languages
that I am sure the audience cannot mistake their meanings or weight
If I use the minimum amount of words in the most simple form
then there is little misunderstanding
and little chance to be twisted
If I say
‘I love you’
and it means simply that in the most weighty way
I visited Van Gogh Alive exhibition. His art and life overwhelmed me. I was overtaken by a range of emotions. I was exhilarated by his unique vibrant earthy brush strokes and accompanied by sadness of him dying a tormented man. I was encouraged by the brotherly love which Vincent and Theo shared. He believed in him and devoted his life to support him and promote his art.
Vincent’s art to me, spoke the flesh and blood labouring and mental reality in humanity; almighty God’s undeniable beautiful creation in nature; an extraordinary gifted man’s journey in self-discovery, self-doubt and unquenchable passion in life itself.
We may be sadden by the fact that Vincent died a poor, insane and unknown artist who seemed to labour in vain.
On the other hand, we may be encouraged by the fact that his God given talent, gift and passion withstands the test of time and human limitation.
Some, if not most of us feel defeated by the fact that our writings have not been acknowledged or recognised. There are few of us will gain the approval of man while we are still alive. I don’t know about you. I can only speak for myself. My passion for writing doesn’t die just because unseen by men. It is part of who I am. My Creator who fashioned me sees me.
– Psalm 139:13-14
For You shaped me, inside and out.
You knitted me together in my mother’s womb long before I took my first breath.
I will offer You my grateful heart, for I am Your unique creation, filled with wonder and awe.
You have approached even the smallest details with excellence;
Your works are wonderful;
I carry this knowledge deep within my soul.
Flicker of Thoughts 