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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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?