Four Decades And A Poem

by Lencio Rodrigues

  in such a brief moment?

  God,

  if you were not her

  then who that might have been?

  Amateur

  Flipping through his personal album,

  now taken new ownership,

  she lets a tear fall

  wondering about all

  those prompt photographers

  capturing last moments

  of her son.

  Oh! there were precious moments of her,

  in amusing poses…

  - practice sessions they’d call it!

  She smiles, wiping a tear

  as she turns his seasons,

  and flips his flamingoes in flight,

  savours fruits that adorned

  the pages of nature,

  and feels the warmth from his

  sunrise glow…

  Then the pages

  just seem to stop from turning…

  “That’s his life,

  he always wanted to be a photographer” she says,

  turning the last page…

  empty.

  Mint and Honey

  hi! I have this voucher you gave me last time,

  “Sorry Sir, it’s valid only on week days”

  Oh okay, never mind, get me two Chai Latte…

  My friend seems impressed at my flair,

  while he digs into my memory of how it all began…

  Endless evenings,

  My girl and I, sitting at various cafes,

  tasting love’s recipes…

  I recollect the days,

  these wide-eyed waitresses never refused me a thing,

  their cordiality never let me down,

  everything was in stock.

  Heartbroken and lonely, I pass the cafés much too often,

  My mind stopping in front of them

  like a lost soul in front of a church, while my feet keep the pace.

  Perhaps, like my life, everyone, shuffled at the cafés,

  and no one knows me here anymore.

  The waitress walks up to me, I know there’s something wrong

  from the expression on her face,

  “Sorry Sir, we don’t have…”

  Okay, can I have a Café con miel?

  What about you? I ask my friend, who seems unpleasant

  and doesn’t prefer coffee, or to answer.

  So I order a green tea with mint instead.

  Everything seems mixed up,

  I think the mint and honey

  could help us relax a bit…

  One Christmas at Farmville! (Zynga)

  Tried to make it home for Christmas

  but alas! somehow I am here,

  No more singing “I’ll be home for Christmas”

  now until Christmas next year!

  They say they have good offers at Farmville,

  special holiday stuff you can send

  for friends and neighbors to fill

  their holiday tree or even vend!

  I harvest poinsettia and brush the reindeers

  while listening to “Christmas in Killarney”

  and other old yuletide carols saying cheers

  adopting a clumsy reindeer, calf or a turkey!

  Anxious to know what’s waiting in those gifts,

  I place soldiers, gnomes and fences of holly,

  Evergreen trees and snowman to uplift the spirits

  and make my Christmas jolly!

  So, I’ll harvest poinsettia and brush reindeers

  and send free gifts in plenty!

  plowing, sowing and harvesting, drinking beers

  farming at Christmastime ain’t a pity!

  Unstitched Wear

  Designs traced, up-to-the-minute,

  revealing creativity, soon you’re in it,

  then in an instant, you’re out of fashion.

  Striving to look like those on the cover

  and inside of the magazine,

  beauty fading from within,

  You try your optimal to come down

  to medium or small from XXL,

  to beat those on Esquire or Elle,

  until you are no more, yourself.

  No matter what we wear,

  our best apparel is the smile we bear

  making us beautiful inside and outside.

  Sketches and Splashes

  He gazes into her focused eyes,

  and she into his edgy face,

  Crayons to paper,

  Anticipating…

  He’s waited for this day

  when he first saw her at the village fair…

  Watching customers bargain

  her work of art,

  Patience is sketched all over his face

  as she draws the lines

  of his transforming expression.

  He can’t wait…

  His library has portraits

  from popular artists,

  but his excuse to be scribbled

  by her skillful hands

  has finally found a way to her heart,

  as he shifts his mind

  to her shattered soul,

  and watches his daughter

  in her eyes…

  After she is done

  and hands over his portrait,

  he pays the price

  of countless paintings

  he destroyed

  the day he splashed beer

  due to his recklessness.

  “Here’s an advance,

  I shall be back tomorrow…”

  Brainless in Transit!

  What can a man, killing time at the airport Transit Lounge think of?

  To me it’s a mere prison cell

  with liberty to walk just a few more paces than prisoners.

  Uniformed airport officials walk superliciously

  with passenger lists and walkie talkies.

  Cool babes make friends with each other even though they’re flying different destinations, parading as if on a catwalk ramp, heading mostly t’wards the restrooms…

  Group of laborers walk in,

  being led like a herd of sheep to “some” green pasture for ridiculous wages, languages of sorts rattle amidst excitement and tension.

  The sweeper’s job could have been given to a healthier, younger, woman (I am not biased)

  but they gave it to an older, lame woman

  who finds it difficult, extremely difficult in fact,

  that a couple of times she slipped and fell.

  But she must do the job - After all she’s holding the prestigious Government position. I feel, the wheelchair relaxing in the corner, could well serve this woman.

  Our beauties have returned, one of them is real pretty -

  mini skirt and a magnificent top

  that says “who needs brains when you have these?”

  I bet you don’t!

  I can’t help but gaze at her and those!!!.

  She too glances in my direction and smiles…

  “All passengers traveling on SQ 421

  please proceed….”

  I am left alone, with nothing much of interest…

  Brainless, like the government policies.

  Mother’s Visit

  For the first time I had the chance to invite my mother.

  Unlike all those years

  I have been going down to see my parents,

  I do not know if she enjoyed all the sights

  of this hot concrete jungle, the sky-high blocks,


  and dazzling elite malls

  where she’s been too scared of the escalator.

  I am not sure how much she has enjoyed

  the multi-cuisine of this cosmopolitan clutter,

  or the hybrid flowers along the roads that impressed her for a moment,

  although her garden has better varieties of Dahlias

  marigolds, begonias, hydrangeas and more,

  that need more care than this drip-irrigated flora.

  I do not know if she freaked out with all the parties

  and the fine wines and restaurants

  that played her favorite songs.

  But this I am certain

  that she cherished every moment of her visit

  to feel and see me, not being out of her reach,

  out of her sight.

  The fulfillment, the satisfaction

  of her being closer to me.

  I could feel it

  in the closest, warmest and the longest hug

  of the goodbye session,

  and the broken voice she said

  “take care”

  Until then…

  Daydreams reach out to touch you,

  I close my eyes to forget my yearning

  and breathe…

  but I can smell the scent of your skin

  coming from the shadows before my eyes.

  Your face made of a smile,

  and eyes of passion

  and beneath and below those eyes

  a love to feel in all its splendor.

  What can a heart speak of

  when senses are numbed by distance?

  I long to hold you

  and kiss you long enough till

  the sun rises and sets a thousand times

  and make love like we’ll never see each other again.

  Until then,

  daydreams reach out to touch you…

  The Top Floor

  Stairs spiral still, but the floor is silent

  children of tenants run a racket

  after you decided it’s sore to stay here.

  I’ve occupied the room we kept locked, always…

  Telephones ask me if I am okay,

  concerns creep from family and friends

  nibbling on biscuits and fast food

  and availing things I can get for free.

  If it was money, I wouldn’t rent the floor so cheap

  if I wanted company, I’d keep lovers without kids

  and if it were kids, I wouldn’t be complaining

  about them running a racket…

  I postpone dusting or buying furniture

  even though home centers sales have come and gone

  no one goes up the staircase except tenants

  who don’t even pay their rent on time.

  Time Changes Everything

  (For Margaret Fernandez, an Octogenarian who regularly checks emails and learns her music from the computer.)

  Oh Margaret, tell me! Tell me about your maiden days,

  when you took the time and watched sun’s rays,

  Tell me about bright blue sky days, trees standing tall,

  how you loved to climb hills and watch the rain fall.

  Tell me from your days, about the young, bashful girls

  With no colour in their hair, yet pretty in their curls

  Tell me how they’d look with no vain, gaudy makeup

  did they look like boys, did you face gender ID mix-up?

  Tell me about men too, they weren’t shy, were they?

  I guess men have always been the same at their play

  But goodness me, did they roll their hair into a bun

  Or tie it with a band, as others stared and made fun?

  Tell me about children, maybe…younger than two?

  Cause seeing the ones of today, I haven’t got a clue

  Surely, then, they had no remote controls of TV

  Or mobile phones and toys with such large variety!

  Did they speak anything of something called Ozone?

  You heard of natural twins, but Dolly’s clone?

  Simple remedies healed ailments without a doubt,

  hearing of unknown “flu” I’m sure you freak out!

  Oh Margaret! you have seen the best of both worlds,

  days when life was simpler, and these days, so bold,

  facing challenges you thought were not meant for you,

  But you’ve blended so well in an era of mobiles and yahoo!

  War is Over…

  The war is over

  and peace has prevailed…

  we lost everything,

  our minds, our cool over heated views,

  and…

  track of where it was leading us…

  until we stood on the horizon

  watching its fading…

  ~ the flames put out.

  The war is over

  and everything seems good and happy,

  no one is troubled

  no one, bothered

  about words and abuses being bombed,

  bruising each other,

  and the fear of when the next fight will erupt.

  Indifference in peace’s disguise now triumphs.

  Indifference…

  (sigh)

  Indifference like children running free

  from their fears on barren battlefields

  yet to delight in nothing.

  At least the world seems happier

  frown erased,

  and I can sleep well from those sounds of silence,

  shattering the peace of each night.

  The war is over and we have found our peace

  in what we lost…

  Hailstones and Rain

  The rain poured down

  and the sleet punched the ground,

  you said in words

  what stirred within,

  when the sound

  and the smell of wet soil

  took me to your heart.

  What better way to a day’s start!

  Thinking of you,

  thinking of things we’d do

  in the rain,

  without this stormy solitude.

  How splendidly

  they came down from the sky

  one vulnerable, exposed

  to the grimy lips of the ground,

  the other, hitting the earth

  in revenge as it fell down.

  Oh! how splendidly,

  they melted and blended as one!

  Lasting Impressions

  The railway station is a coffeehouse

  with travelers of various flavours,

  where artists and dreamers

  sit and create impressions on the platforms of time.

  Visions vault together

  thoughts drenched deep

  between the strokes on the canvas,

  the painter

  brings unknown travelers,

  bustling in eternal silence…

  to life.

  Unraveling their mysteries,

  and expressing their dreams in colours,

  taking them to lands

  far and beyond,

  Sketching a moment in time.

  When all dreams succumb,

  and those traveled have completed their journey…

  We will still sip from this magnum opus,

  savouring the essence.

  Woman

  You have drenched me in love
>
  from the womb and forever,

  You need nothing

  but the best of me.

  You’ve been a mother figure

  and given utmost attention

  while mother’s away,

  You’re the mother of my God,

  imploring the graces for me.

  Your heart is softer than mine

  and you taught me what life is

  and how the world looks like

  from those classroom walls,

  You’ve been my best friend

  talking for hours without boring me.

  You set my desires on fire

  and melt me when you talk in my ears…

  those lies

  You’re a cheater,

  A heart and a home breaker,

  Your heart is much harder than mine.

  You’re my best friend’s worst enemy,

  You’re insatiable,

  and your needs are twice as mine.

  You’ve done all you can to hurt me,

  not just once or twice,

  and woman, I still can’t get myself to hate you…

  For you’re not the only woman in the world.

  Self Portrait

  I wake up from my sleeping, curled like G clef

  and reverberate in tenor pitch,

  My thoughts, clustered like grapes

  begin to flow their juices,

  from my soul…

  distilled, to be savored forever.

  Tempted by the dreams like an erotic Greek goddess,

  a deluge of contemplative drops

  mark the pure linen with virgin thoughts.

  Cold dark winter days

  bleached by the warmth inside me,

  as zealous eyes unlock mysteries on the fascia,

  revealing my admiration for mirrored imagination

  of truth and fate,

  whose magnanimity I can’t conquer.

  Failures, broken relationships shatter the mirror

  and fragmented shards stare grotesquely,

  back at me…

  …I don’t falter

  Standing on the precipice of tomorrows,

  adventure excites me,

  Optimistic of sunbeams dancing on silver hair

  I keep painting my portrait on canvas divine.

  I Learn

  I learn when it rains

  How it takes over the silence,