POEM: Quarantine

This poem was written in 2020, amidst the global pandemic. It was first published at Whitby Public Library – Archives, in January 2021.

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Quarantine

I stay home.

I work from home.

I don’t spend time in traffic.

I don’t spend money on things I don’t need.

I don’t travel abroad.

There is a mysterious artist in my neighborhood who paints inspirational art rocks.

I live in sweatpants.

I don’t dress up.

I don’t apply makeup.

Sweatpants are the new dress pants.

I save up money.

My garden gets a makeover.

I sleep in.

I cook slow foods.

I skype.

I write letters.

I read dozens of books.

I read this year more than the five previous years combined.

I have more than a hundred unread books in my personal library.

Time to read all those unread books.

I journal.

I write my next book.

I paint.

I craft.

I turn trash to treasure.

I create.

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 77.

POEM: What Is Love

What is love?

Love is the laughter that echoes through the air, bringing joy and glee to our weary souls.

Love is a delicate butterfly, fluttering its vibrant wings, awakening the dormant beauty within us.

Love is the comforting warmth of a cozy blanket, wrapping us in a tender embrace on a chilly night.

Love is the flickering candlelight, casting a soft glow that illuminates the darkest corners of our being.

Love is the sweet blossom, blooming amidst adversity, spreading its fragrance of hope and resilience.

Love is an intricate puzzle, fitting perfectly together, creating a masterpiece of unity and understanding.

Love is the compass that guides us on life's journey, leading us toward our true purpose and happiness.

Love is a vibrant painting, splashed with colors of passion, creating a masterpiece of emotions and connections.

Love is the soft whisper in the wind, carrying words of affection and solace to our longing hearts.

Love is the glowing ember, radiating warmth and comfort, igniting the fire of passion within us.

Love is the sturdy oak tree, rooted deeply in trust and loyalty, providing shade and shelter in the storm.

Love is the delicate spider’s web, intricately woven with threads of devotion, capturing our hearts in its embrace.

Love is the fragrant cup of tea, brewing serenity and tranquility in the chaos of our lives.

Love is a handwritten letter, bearing affection and devotion, bridging distances and time.

Love is the steady heartbeat, a rhythmic reminder of the profound connection we share with one another.

POEM: The Assault

I saw some disturbing news today.

There was this video circulating on social media of a senior taxi driver in New York being attacked by five people.

The assault was vicious and senseless.

The police were nowhere to be seen.

Cars drove by without stopping.

A couple of passers-by were filming the incident.

But no one intervened to help the poor man.

And to add insult to injury,

His glasses got smashed on the ground.

The video was short, so I don’t know the context.

But with or without context, attacking another human being in broad daylight like this is despicable,

No matter how you look at it.

As I was watching the video with a heavy heart,

I was wondering,

What could have happened?

Why did these five people get so upset that they resorted to such abhorrent violence?

I wish I was there to help him.

To intervene.

To get the bystanders involved.

And I couldn’t help but wonder,

What happened to our world?

What happened to our humanity?

Somewhere along the way we lost it,

And we need to get it back.

For now, I can only pray for this unfortunate man.

I hope he went to the hospital to get the care he needed.

I hope he will overcome this adversity.

And I pray not only for him, but also for us.

I pray we find our lost humanity and repair our shattered decency.

POEM: I Can See It in Your Eyes

This poem was written in 2020, amidst the global pandemic. It was first published at Whitby Public Library – Archives, in January 2021.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I Can See It in Your Eyes

The world is sick, and we wear masks.

We don’t hug, don’t kiss, don’t keep close.

We cover our faces to protect our bodies.

But it’s not just our faces that we cover.

We cover smiles.

We cover words.

We cover feelings.

We cover truths.

I can no longer wear lipstick.

The mask is the new lipstick.

We make fashion out of masks,

For we love fashion,

And we still want it to show on us.

We wear dazzled masks just like we used to wear dazzled dresses and stilettos not long ago.

We can no longer talk to each other like before.

Our words are muffled now.

We must speak louder to say the same things,

The same feelings,

The same truths.

Our smiles are hidden, and we can no longer see each other smiling from behind our masks.

But I can see your smile in your eyes.

You can see my smile in my eyes.

We can see it in each other’s eyes.

We smile with our eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 75.

POEM: Banned Books

It’s the most divided we have ever been.

Book banning is just one of the matters that we fight over.

But wait a second.

It’s not merely book banning.

Not all books from all bookstores and libraries are generally banned.

There is a very distinct nuance here,

And we must not ignore it.

No one is banning you from reading Shakespeare.

You can go to any bookstore and any library and read the beloved bard,

Just like you always could.

So let’s be reasonable here.

Some books are more niche than others,

And they respectfully belong to their own club.

But other than that,

Othello still rocks and he always will.

POEM: Earth in the Time of Corona

This poem was written back in 2020 in the midst of the pandemic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Earth in the Time of Corona

My big children did mischief.

I sent them to their room,

And now they must think hard about what they have done.

My face is scarred,

I’m bleeding,

I’m sick,

I’m exhausted.

I can barely stand on my feet.

I need a break.

I must shake this grime off my shoulders.

March is here, and the trees are in bloom.

Isn’t it early for tree blooms?

Shouldn’t my beloved trees blossom in April?

Isn’t April the month of the flowers each year?

So why March this year?

Oh, but I know why.

My mischievous children are locked in the house,

And now the trees have more space to grow.

And my small children, timidly, get out of the woods

And wander on the empty streets in the big city.

Look at that puma strutting down the Fifth Avenue,

So fearless now.

And I can breathe.

Finally, after decades, I breathe.

My tallest mountains can show their faces again.

How clearly I can see now.

How refreshed I feel now.

I needed this break.

Thank you, Corona, for the break.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 75.

POEM: The Table

Someone said recently that the table must be accessible to all.

(And I wholeheartedly agree with this statement.

I’m not trying to take credit for these words.)

But I’m afraid the accessible is not the issue here.

The table should not only be accessible,

But also acceptable.

And the bigger issue that we face nowadays is that the table is not acceptable.

So why would I want to join it at all?

POEM: Gratitude

Grateful for feeling alive.

Grateful for love.

Grateful for family.

Grateful for friends.

Grateful for health.

Grateful for safety.

Grateful for stability.

Grateful for comfort.

Grateful for books around me.

Grateful for inspiration.

Grateful for fine things.

Grateful for seeing the world.

Grateful for the vaccine.

Grateful for everything I have.

When we go through a crisis,

It teaches us precious lessons.

My most valuable lesson is to appreciate.

Nothing we are given is to be taken for granted.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 72.

POEM: Hygge à la Canadienne

Friday night.

I have a quiet weekend ahead of me,

All to myself, all by myself.

Sometimes it just feels good to spend time in my own company.

I shut out the outside world for three days.

I don’t respond to emails or phone calls.

I have a tasty take-out dinner.

Lovely sushi!

I have a glass of red wine.

I indulge in a slice of chocolate cake.

I write a short story and a poem.

I watch a romantic comedy on Netflix.

I soak up in a bubble bath and browse a fashion magazine

While in the tub with a beauty mask on my face.

I open my journal and reflect on my day,

Sipping from a cup of strawberry tea.

I light a scented candle while I write.

The candle helps me feel inspired,

And the pen rushes on the paper as if it writes on its own.

I go to bed early.

I spritz some lavender mist on my pillow.

I read a book before sleep.

I repeat on Saturday and Sunday.

Small joys bring me just as much happiness in my life as the big ones.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 68.

POEM: To Do List for Being Happier

Hug.

Kiss.

Make love.

Read more books.

Listen to good music.

Watch a favorite movie.

Take photos.

Go back to your hobbies.

Wear a beautiful dress.

Go to a crazy party.

Go to a fashion show.

Have a coffee with your best friend.

Call your sister.

Go on a road trip.

Go to a Caribbean beach.

Go up on the Eiffel Tower.

Make priceless memories.

Write a story about what you love.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 67.

POEM: The Days of the Week

My feelings have different colors on the different days of the week.

Monday.

I feel dark blue.

I mourn the weekend and I battle the proverbial blues.

So blue, that it’s dark blue.

Just a shade short of black.

Tuesday.

Still blue.

But it’s a lighter blue.

And my spirit feels less gloomy.

Wednesday.

Green.

It’s the middle of the week and I feel fresh, hopeful, and inspired.

Thursday.

Red.

The weekend is just around the corner, and I fire up.

Friday.

My favorite day of the week.

The anticipation of the weekend.

Sometimes the anticipation of joy is even more enjoyable than joy itself.

Just like waiting for Christmas.

I feel about Friday the same way as I feel about the first three weeks of December.

Friday night brings joie de vivre.

And my Friday is turquoise.

My favorite color.

The color of the sea.

The most beautiful color of them all.

Saturday is orange.

Bright and hot orange.

And Sunday is even brighter.

The brightest day of the week.

Sunday yellow.

Bright yellow.

Sunny yellow.

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 60.

POEM: Another Note to Self

Don’t be afraid.

Don’t be scared.

Don’t be sorry.

Don’t worry.

Don’t stop.

Don’t give up.

Don’t hide.

Don’t run away.

Don’t think you’re not good enough.

Don’t think you’re alone in the world.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 66.

POEM: Note to Self

Be loved.

Be adored.

Be admired.

Be beautiful.

Be gorgeous.

Be amazing.

Be awesome.

Be brave.

Be strong.

Be free.

Be hopeful.

Be confident.

Be smiling.

Be happy.

Be blessed.

Be kind to yourself.

Be the best.

Be everything you want to be.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 65.

POEM: The Couple on the Train

I am traveling by train.

I am bound to arrive at my destination in two hours.

I fall asleep for what feels like a moment,

But then some passenger movements on the aisle wake me.

I open my eyes.

The couch in front of me was empty when I fell asleep,

And now there is a sleeping young couple occupying it.

They look to be in their thirties,

And they are married.

I notice the golden rings on their left hands.

The woman rests her head on the man’s shoulder,

And the man hugs her.

Both are wearing jeans and comfortable sweaters.

I can’t help but notice the loving and protective tenderness in their embrace.

Passionate love.

They love each other so much, crosses my mind.

I love doing people-watching.

I learn a lot about human nature when I take the time to observe it.

Discretely so,

Without the subjects ever noticing that I am watching them.

This couple can’t see me watching while they are asleep,

But I am still careful to be a discreet observant,

As if I’m afraid to disturb their moment of rest.

I imagine their story.

I give them names in my head,

Elaine and Victor.

They traveled over the weekend,

And now they return to Toronto.

They went to a friend’s wedding.

Their own wedding was last year,

And all their friends were there for them,

Celebrating their happy union.

Most of their friends are now reaching this milestone in their lives – couples committing to each other.

Then having children and raising them.

Then reaching middle age and sending the children off to school.

Then growing old together.

Then retiring and traveling the world.

But all of this is in the future for them,

For this sweet couple that I happen to share a train ride with today.

They remind me of another young couple.

I never met them,

But I know about them from a photograph that was taken by Henri Cartier-Bresson in Romania in 1975.

It was a mysterious young couple on the train,

Sleeping in a tender embrace on the train couch.

The young woman was expecting a baby, who should be in his forties now.

Nobody knew who the couple was,

Yet their mystery is probably what made them so notorious

Among the art lovers around the world.

Artists and writers used to speculate about who these two people were and what their story was,

And the photograph captured the imagination of many.

It is currently at the Museum of Modern Art,

A time capsule from another era,

From another part of the world.

And now I look at Elaine and Victor,

A young couple on a train,

A nod to a piece of art created more than forty years ago.

I continue writing their story in my head.

What if this young woman is also pregnant, she just doesn’t show it yet?

I imagine that she is two months pregnant now,

And this is her first baby.

Soon she will start wearing a different wardrobe,

To fit her growing belly.

But for now,

She still can wear her favorite jeans.

Their baby girl will be born in a few short months,

And they will start a family,

Just like their fellow train riders from Romania did in 1975.

Couple on a train, Romania, 1975. Photo by Henri Cartier-Bresson. 

Collection of Museum of Modern Art.

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 56.

POEM: It Must Be Stopped

We have had two of them,

Don’t let it turn into a third one.

The world doesn’t need a third one.

The world doesn’t need one at all.

You’ve shown which side of history you want to be.

You’ve done an amazing job so far,

Don’t let your guard down now.

Keep your eyes open,

Don’t let the fog blind you.

Finish what needs to be done.

The madness must be stopped.

POEM: War

Long queues.

Miles of cars.

Borders.

Luggage.

Passports.

Women.

Children.

Seniors.

Pets.

Water bottles.

Sandwiches.

Railway stations.

Adhoc camps.

Portable beds.

Subway bunkers.

A baby born in the subway.

Men staying behind.

Explosions.

Broken windows.

Traffic jam.

Destruction.

Misery.

Death.

The sinister joke of the twenty-first century.

POEM: What Is a Woman

A woman is the beautiful sex.

A woman is the fragile sex.

A woman is Eve’s daughter.

A woman is motherhood.

A woman is pregnancy.

A woman brings life into the world.

A woman is caring.

A woman is nurturing.

A woman is delicate. 

A woman is feelings.

A woman is emotions.

A woman is balance.

A woman is resilience.

A woman has the heart of an artist.

A woman is a man’s companion.

A woman is the yin to the yang.

A woman is complementing the other half.

A woman is not unequal to the other half, just different.

A woman is sacred feminine.

A woman should go without saying, shouldn’t she?

POEM: What Makes a Human

Love.

Feelings.

Emotions.

Ups and downs.

Intelligence.

Strength.

Vulnerability.

Weakness.

Ambition.

Determination.

Happiness or the lack thereof.

And above all, kindness.

POEM: Offline

Twitter is down today.

An IT bug or another,

Threatening the well-being of the social media giant.

I’m sorry, but you’ve exceeded your daily rate for today.

Your favorite content is unavailable for now.

Please try again later.

Oh well.

I might as well peel myself off the screen.

I’ll go to the park.

I’ll enjoy the sunny weekend and the good weather.

Watching the news about burning libraries in France is too painful anyway.

It seems that this bug attacking Twitter came at the right time.

I’m sorry, bad news is unavailable today.

Your heart shouldn’t take so much grief at this time.

The world is in too much pain.

Maybe you should take a break from the devastating news.

Please try again later.

POEM: The Dragon Has a Soul Too

When we think about the Dragon,

We think about a ferocious beast.

Larger than life, fire breathing and frightening – his destiny is to protect the Princess from any danger, big or small.

So much so, that no one ever dares come close to the castle

Where the Princess is dreaming about Prince Charming.

Even Prince Charming himself must summon up his courage

To face the Dragon every time he visits his betrothed Princess

And brings her flowers and chocolates.

But other than that,

No one ever steps into the castle.

It can get lonely.

We are used to fear the Dragon,

But we forget that he has a soul too.

How could he breathe fire if it didn’t come from deep inside his soul?

Just like we couldn’t breathe without oxygen in outer space,

The Dragon couldn’t breathe fire

Has he not had a soul to nourish it.

We fear his enormous size,

But we forget that his heart is just as big.

One can only be this big if one has a big heart.

And a big heart can fit a lot of love.

We never think of the Dragon as being lovely and sweet,

For his fire breathing doesn’t let us see beyond his fierceness.

But no doubt he has a sweet side to himself,

And he wishes people could see it too.

The Dragon has a soul too.

It is loving and caring through the thundering energy,

Otherwise, how could he protect the Princess?

He is her best friend, her guardian, her protector,

Even though she doesn’t realize it,

Even though the only one she ever thinks about is Prince Charming.

But the Dragon would do anything for her,

Anything to protect her.

And all he wishes for her is to find her happily ever after with her Prince.

He hopes to find love one day too – once his destiny is fulfilled,

And the Princess leaves the castle in the arms of her beloved

To live a life of love and happiness.

Because the Dragon has a big soul and a big heart.

Because there is so much love in his heart to give.

Because he also waits for his soulmate,

Just like the Princess waited for hers.

~~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 54.

POEM: Gender

I keep being told that my gender was assigned to me at birth.

No, it was not.

It was merely observed at birth.

Well, what can I say.

Actually, it goes without saying that I was not born genderless.

Some high-profile dignitaries in our society think that you need a degree in biology to understand gender.

Really?

And here I thought for my entire life that all you need for that is common sense.

Didn’t you?

Granted, I don’t have a degree in biology.

But I did pay attention to biology classes in school.

I don’t have any issues with my gender.

Do you?

Thank you, Mother Nature, for giving me my gender before I was born.

POEM: The Sunflower

She is in love with the sun. 

Every sunny day is a happy day for her. 

She wakes up every morning with her heart full of joy. 

She always gazes at the one she loves the most. 

As the sun walks the sky from dawn to dusk, 

Her eyes walk the sky alongside him, too. 

When the sky cries, the sunflower cries too. 

Her saddest days are the gloomy days 

When the clouds keep the sun away from her. 

She thinks about him all day and dreams about him all night. 

And when the night falls upon the earth, 

The sunflower can’t wait for the morning to come, 

To embrace her bright love again.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 53.

POEM: Erasure

I have been called names.

Many different names.

Many humiliating, degrading, insulting, and erasing names.

A non-man.

A bonus hole.

A person with vagina.

A menstruator.

A uterus owner.

A birthing person.

A chest feeder.

A womxn.

And the ultimate slur,

A ciswoman.

Well, no.

I am not any of these things.

I am a woman.

And I will not have it any other way.

POEM: Ghost in Love

He left this world, 

But he didn’t make it to the other world. 

He was stuck between earth and heaven. 

Love is what kept him chained to this world and it wouldn’t set him free. 

He loved a woman on this earth, 

But she didn’t know about his love. 

She didn’t see him. 

She didn’t hear him. 

She didn’t know he existed. 

When he thought it was his time to leave, the bright light did not open in front of him. 

Angels did not call him. 

Instead, darkness lay ahead, 

And his steps wouldn’t follow it. 

His spirit came back. 

He needed to find his closure before he could leave this world for good. 

He wandered on earth aimlessly. 

How could he find his way to complete his journey? 

What could he do to open up the bright light 

And let the angels know 

That he was ready to pass through the two worlds? 

He had unfinished business to take care of in this world first. 

But now that he was in another dimension, 

It wasn’t that simple. 

He had to find a way to reach her heart. 

But he could never do that when he was alive. 

How could he do that now when he was dead? 

Spirits from the other side can’t talk to us on this side. 

Unless they find a bridge to come back. 

His bridge was her dreams. 

The only way he could reach her heart 

Was to visit her in her dreams. 

A vision to him, a dream to her. 

He would go to her sanctuary at night. 

At night to her, at eternity to him. 

The night was in her world of the living. 

But the eternity was in his world of the dead. 

He gently entered her dream realm. 

There she was, seeing him now. 

I love you. I always have. I always will. 

And now she knew. 

Now she could hear him. 

He finally found his peace. 

The bright light opened up. 

The angels called his name. 

He could complete his journey to the other side. 

He was no longer a ghost stuck in between worlds, 

But a dear memory to those who loved him on this earth.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 51.

POEM: The Mermaid, a Retelling

The sea was her home. 

She was happy and carefree. 

Dolphins were her best friends. 

Then she emerged above the water to look at the outworld. 

And she met him. 

The piano player. 

She fell in love with his music, 

And she fell in love with him. 

He was perfect, 

Just like his music was. 

She loved everything about him. 

His strength. 

His charisma. 

His intelligence. 

His good looks. 

His good nature. 

His hypnotizing blue eyes. 

His soft touch. 

His delicate hands. 

His seductive smile. 

His contagious laugh. 

The sound of his voice, grave and strong. 

She thought about him day and night. 

She dreamed about being part of his world. 

She hoped that by some miracle, she could be by his side. 

But mermaids and humans cannot ally. 

Their two worlds cannot be one. 

The water keeps them apart. 

The mermaid in the sea, 

The human on the land. 

She couldn’t breathe on the land. 

He couldn’t breathe in the sea. 

The miracle could never be. 

The sea was her home, 

And the land was his. 

She returned to the sea, heartbroken, 

While he stayed on the land. 

Her friends, the dolphins, consoled her. 

Some love stories are not meant to be. 

She needed to forget about her love. 

She needed to heal from her pain. 

She needed to go on without him.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 48.

POEM: Sunset

I watch the sunset 

And I think about my departed love. 

You are beyond the horizon 

And I can’t see you anymore. 

I wish I could touch the sun 

When it touches the earth, 

 And I wish the horizon 

Could bring you back to me. 

But it’s only an illusion 

And I will never see you again. 

You are beyond the horizon 

And you are not coming back, 

My heart is lost into the darkness of the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book Sunset in Toronto, page 48.

POEM: Emotional

I am a human being, 

I am a woman, 

I have emotions. 

Sometimes I am emotional, 

Sometimes very emotional. 

You shouldn’t hold it against me. 

My emotions are part of the human me. 

It’s a feature, not a weakness. 

You should know that I can do my job just as well 

Regardless of the level of emotions 

That I experience on any given day. 

“You’re too emotional” should not be a conversation to be had 

In a human resources office. 

Where does “You’re emotional” end 

And where does “You’re too emotional” begin? 

Who has the right to decide for me 

How much of my emotional is too emotional? 

If you deal with human resources, 

Then you should know that emotions are human. 

You should not treat me dismissively for being emotional, 

Or very emotional.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 47.

Happy Fourth of July!

Happy Fourth of July to all my American friends and readers!

Photo credit: Google Images

POEM: Jealousy

Consuming force that makes your heart ache. 

A storm of pain that takes over your soul. 

You’re a walking ticking bomb ready to explode your pain any minute. 

You can’t stop crying nights in a row. 

You can’t stand it when someone else is flirting with the one you love. 

When someone else is casually touching his hand. 

When someone else is laughing at all his jokes. 

When someone else is lingering around him. 

When someone else is claiming him as their own. 

You can’t stop hurting for him. 

Pangs of jealousy stab your heart like poisoned arrows. 

You’re jealous and your heart is bleeding. 

You feel like jealousy defines you.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 46.

POEM: Anxiety

You feel butterflies in your stomach. 

They flap their wings crazily 

And it makes your stomach hurt. 

The unrequited love keeps your stomach clenched 

And it won’t let you go. 

It goes on and on for years. 

You stop eating, 

You stop sleeping, 

You lose weight. 

You cry nights in a row. 

The butterflies in your stomach are hungry for love 

And they consume you from the inside out, 

But in fact, you are battling anxiety. 

You never tell your doctor how you feel. 

You never treat anxiety with medication, 

And it’s still there in you. 

What’s the point of treating it, you think, 

If the doctor will treat the effect and not the cause. 

But you don’t care about the effect, 

You only care about the cause. 

Your anxiety will go when its cause goes. 

And until then, 

You learn to live with it, 

And you make it part of you. 

You learn to accept the pain 

And you make peace with it.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 45.

Happy Canada Day!

Happy Canada Day to everyone! Enjoy your long weekend!

Photo credit: Google Images