Poems for the Drawer

As autumn winds the dust do sweep and sway,
So have you stirred the years away from me
And forced me, in the middle of my way,
To stop and test my whole entity.
And just as rains of winter purge and clean
The atmosphere of dirt and foul smell,
So have you stripped away whatever's mean
And made me face in mirror my soul's hell.
The spring brings hopes for the revival; thus
Do you affect my mind, my heart, my roots:
Unrestless, watch as Mother Nature does
Load up the summer with the season fruits.
For, if I write and versify anew,
No one is to be thanked, no one but you.
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The spirit is dying
How woeful am I!
The body is lying -
I cannot but cry...
The corpse will be buried -
Oblivion grave -
For ever be carried
On memory wave.
I still can recall now
The joy of the past,
When couldn't perceive how
This wonder won't last.
Behold how it struggles
For moments of grace!
I know it too wonders -
What would take its place.
The crane brought the gravestone -
It's still in the air.
One push of the button...
Oh! God! What a mare!
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Among so many words,
Let loose into the wood,
Eclipsing your prudence,
Some huge and honey-sweet,
Some tiny - salt in food...
Among them you must chose,
Naively and unfledged,
Decide - which utters truth,
Reveals concern and care,
Or flatters for its good.
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The words I wrote to you, my dear,
Are yours to use or throw away.
They dwelt with me but little, here,
If once were mine, are yours today.

The words, these offsprings of my mind,
Together added, form a thought -
A thought intended to be kind
And striving to convey a lot.

The thought, like human children do,
Is leaving nest and off it flies
And all I can, is asking you
To tender it, when it arrives.
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Tomorrow is another day
So look ahead and wipe your tears.
Don't listen to what others say -
You've learnt this lesson over years

Forget the past, it died away.
You are alive and can ignore
The past and its oppressing weigh
Seek peace of mind, don't be at war.

And when the sun does shine again
And starts to warm your grieving soul,
You'll smile, considering how vain
That sorrow was - without a goal.

Since you have known this for years,
No matter what the others say:
A tiny smile will wipe your tears
And make tomorrow come today.
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There was a bird,
A wounded bird,
That fell onto my lap.
I tried to help,
I tried to soothe
The wounded bird's torment.
But autumn came -
Migration time -
The bird took off from me.
Still claiming: "If
You ever need,
I will be here for you".
"Away", it said,
"Don't care too much,
I am an ugly duck".
"I don't believe!"
Was the reply,
"I don't believe you are,
And I believed...
I tried my luck
Whenever I felt blue.
I tried to call,
To shout aloud,
But everything in vain.
I do perceive
Through your distress
The pure, unblemished soul.
I will take care
That you see, too
How precious you are".
My bird has left,
It's far away
And cannot hear my cry.
On other laps
It leans its head
When needing to be soothed.
And so it went,
For days and months,
The bird kept saying, "leave,
"I am no good
I am a duck"
And I replied "Not true,
Sometimes, I bleed
And then I think -
My bird is back with me.
Sometimes, indeed,
It passes by
And pecks upon my hatch.
I see so clear,
I see so bright,
I see the peacock tail.
It is majestic,
It's so rare!
It is a peacock tail".
I smile at it,
It speaks to me
In our special tongue.
It spreads again
Its peacock tail,
For moments to be seen.
At last, it seems,
The message passed.
My bird began to heal.
Day after day,
Began to trust
The power it possessed.
But it is brief,
Too fast for me
To recognize my bird.
And then I wonder
If I had
A peacock, or a duck.
In gratitude,
Times and again
It spread its tail for me,
Revealed its colors,
Its grandeur -
I was bewitched by it.
If duck or peacock -
I don't care
Because I need my bird.
I need the shelter
Of its wing
When frost invades my soul.
I loved my bird,
Adored its tail.
"I love you", said the bird.
It said: "whenever
You need me
I will be here for you".
It isn't right,
To miss my bird,
To miss so painfully.
Yet, when I'm glum,
When I am cold,
I need its wing to warm...
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The spider turns a pair of eyes
And looks attentively.
Around it, some seven flies
Are buzzing cheerfully.
The fly looks up - the web is there,
Conspicuous in the night.
It trembles gently in the air,
With silver threads of light.
"If only one would come to me
As friend, out of love,
How glad and happy would I be
And thank my God above."
"How cozy would this hammock be
To swing in it and feel
Relaxed and absolutely free;
To cover or reveal
But none would come to be its mate
And sooth its lonely mind.
It weaves its web cursing its fate
And longing to be kind.
My thoughts, my feelings, my concern
For this unhappy guy
Who weaves this web; how much I yearn
To be its sweetheart fly."
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If our friendship were an old oak tree
It could be able to defeat the storm.
Its long and ramifying roots could see
That it survived and came to life when warm.
Its huge trunk would have never bent aside
And we, in our friendship, could take pride.
If our friendship were a tree...

If our friendship were a bush of rose
It would have bent when gale became too strong.
When it was over, when the wind just blows,
We could have seen, it never stopped its song:
The branches would have straightened up anew
And we would still be friends - myself and you.
If our friendship were a rose...

But our friendship was a gentle bud -
So lovely, yet so feeble in the breeze.
Its splendor couldn't rise above the flood
Of unpronounced words, that stung like bees.
And we may cry in vain, no remedy
To what was once our felicity.
For our friendship was a bud...
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