Christmastime
is a special time
different from all the other days of the year
wishing for that bit of snow
and hugging your parents tight
it’s a glimmer of hope
in these tough pandemic times.
In short, it’s a time—
a wonderful time;
It’s Christmastime!
Return from a faraway land
Her eyes shining so bright
full of hope, joy and emotion;
His smile—deep, genuine
An almost otherworldly sight.
Waiting for months on end
with a terrible disaster raging on
indeed, the end seemed out of sight
till their son did postcards send.
That was the joy of two parents—
an indescribable sea of emotions
the smile on their faces said it all
their son had come home, once and for all.
Resting my gaze upon your softness
no contact—but my eyes
feel you, caress you—
The softness of your golden sheets
flowing in the late evening breeze
yet——nothing moves.
Just the rolling drum deep inside,
its pace quickens:
a driving, rushing beat.
With every moment,
with every passing breath,
The piercing calm blue of your eyes
torments my imagination with your sighs.
When outside it all seems black and white
or a rather dull shade of grey,
everything’s a depressing sight
your eyes look whichever way.
In times like these, it is music that brings colour
all you need to do is sit still and listen
it really is a kind of emotional juggler
as the orchestra glows in unison.
Yes, it glows—a radiating hue
deep crimson to soothing navy blue
its crescendos pulse in the dark
and, in a way, so does AC/DC’s Back in Black.
Let me tell you:
when you meet a friend, kindred spirit or someone special
don’t—whatever you do,
start cracking economics jokes.
Their demand is in low supply
and people’s humour for them even more;
they’ll all just say “bye”
with a rather sullen face.
You might call that a negative externality;
let me tell you: stop.
We all know of your fantastic ability
but one’s enough.
Diversification of your jokes is key
much like many things in life
and your inability to see
past macro is, um, a problem.
So next time you see your grandma or next Juliet,
please err away from trade surpluses
or anything remotely soviet.
You’ll thank me later.
Dear Lady,
Before last week we have not met
vague knowledge of each other’s existence
last week: it was all like a movie set
of two worlds in confluence.
Your shapes of before were not clear
mine were of plenty vibrant colours
I knew not what to fear
but those surreptitious emotional jewellers.
Last week, your colours matched mine
our words echoing in unison
was this some sort of crude sign
or an echo of my ambition?
Now, I wonder if you
with your golden hair and sapphire eyes
had felt these emotions too
instead, were these simply colourful lies?
I know only time will tell
I need patience, not this wicked spell!
I’m a man of nineteen
a man of forty and thirteen.
Liking beret hats
and videos of cats.
But I realised—in this world
nobody is that bold
every night is a purchase
as you sink further from the surface.
On this surface, real love is found
where feelings of tender romance compound.
In today’s transactional society
decisions require no piety.
What is this supposed to mean—
how can I unsee what has been seen?
Does love as we know it exist no more
just one-night stands making you feel empty and sore?
This world, though, I’m willing to discover
with many conspicuous secrets to uncover
I just hope in the end I’ll still be me
Still being the gallant, courteous and gentle man I would like to be.
She is like the sun
radiating the world’s love
her beauty is plain to all.
She is like the sun
glowing with joy and laughter
her smile is never stretched thin.
She is like the sun
I see her every day
too afraid to approach; will it burn?
She is like the sun
I’m waiting for a cloud to come
waiting for my turn.
But what if this chance
never fits my stance
and I’ll be forever waiting
waiting for inexistent romance.
As the night sky, eyes so deeply blue:
the evening stars I so wish to see anew;
or the earth after a rain spell
a rich, loving umber that all worries quell;
a green of the faraway emerald sea
one glance—and your soul may be free.
Beacons, shining upon the mountaintops
as the soothing embers glow
arrived—the place where time stops
and all movements start to slow.
No longer are these fireworks far away
wanting so much while having nothing to say
as these gems float towards
your heart, to the sky, upwards
there—once this sumptuous sight you meet
Heaven, your dreams, euphoria—all compete.
You, who has bright blue eyes
and glowing blond hair;
You, who does not talk to strangers
and keeps to yourself;
You, who stands away from others
giving them all the space they need;
You, who eats strange fermented things
or as you call them—“local delicacies”;
You, who is an entirely different person
having drunk the right stuff;
You, who is deeply friendly and kind;
to your other sides, I am still blind.