i am a penny
chiseled into the concrete
& i’m merely one of the many
sitting beside your feet.
my heart is copper
my edges veiled with rust
& i’m not the shiniest showstopper
if you tuck me safely in your pocket,
i’ll give you every bit of my luck.
Steep your tea in swirling heat
And sip it slowly as the steam arises―
The rim and glossed lip will slowly meet
Wholesomely in their incandescent reveries,
Almost entirely, a part of your spirit is diffused
In the dye’s intensity― in perfect cadency―
Solivagant aromas fill the frolicking air;
Faintly lingering of bristling flower hairs—
Each unfurling petal carefully dried and pressed;
Then tucked away safely in a creaky drawer or desk—
Revivifying petrichor emits from the dusty window sill
And the distilled essences stain onto fragile paper wills—
The shades of season joust the vantage points of a world;
Opening a pandora’s box, the dried momentos undeterred
Writhing and seething into an intertwining agglomeration
The hearth dare spit fiery breaths from its smoky conflagration
Rich rubescent swirls sink into a sallow pool of bubbling sulfur
As coalescing shades and coagulating veins rise into into a slur—
Wuthering from bickering murmurs; its brew of poison saturate—
Hot flashes churn, crackled bones burn; the splitting gash conflates—
As spittles of scarlet ember melt into dusty specks of eigengrau;
Brittle charcoal tear; paper skin cremating into a fueling shroud—
Played drums for the first time:
A pulse flows through my curved fingertips
While electrifying power fuels my wooden grip
The sounds strike, resonating the depth of its core
As a steady heartbeat stirs life across the floor—
My soul tremors, my feet shake to the movement,
Breathing in and out the rhythm of each moment
Sparks of energy flew, and this is how I knew
That I firmly held time within my palms—
And I carried it all along—
Stop to let the scattered pieces rest—
And transfix glass fragments in your chest;
Crystal edges that will never again soften
With these icy winds blowing ever so often—
Treading carefully on this glacial sea
Sculptured to a finish with frosted memories
Recollecting what froze you in the first place—
And stole the smile from your face
Your body is heavy — tired, so you let your eye’s curtain go down
You’re somewhere else — more alive, in the secret place that you have found
Velvety warmth washes o’er in midst of the quietest and darkest of nights
That even the crickets are resting from strumming their violins tonight
You presume the birds are back home, snuggled in their feathery nests
And hanging above, the moon’s whites blot in the shape of a melting crest
In this piercing stillness, you retreat to sleep and to listen to your dreams speak
Fleeting wishes that float, like softly lit lanterns meeting to kiss the stars in the sky
But always diffusing at its rippled surface, falling before it could fully take flight
A distinct whiff of chemical drowned into your senses
As little feet ran across the wet pavement near its chlorine trenches
No state of equilibrium, it seems, as you feel the water’s push and pulls
And you float loosely in its sea of frothing bubbles so full
Your chin slanted to the weightless, delicate film of blues
While gliding fins swim and wade against the tide of hues
And I, alone in its irregularity (with its misty visibilities)
Shall learn again how to breath as I’ve lost the ability
A raven perched and called softly for my name
I said no, but it shamed me with daggered claims
Then it flew— and each time it came back, it grew and grew
Until its definition was seeping me through and through—
Blotting its wings in dark ink, the color of night dripped
Into nightmares I would sink; into emptiness I would slip
Trapped by prickly webs, caged by my own rusty chains
The sun’s light would flow and ebb, until the bright colors strained
From the potent concoction, a stirring smoke of tornado arose
I drank Fear, as Fear drank me, until the crevices of my mind decomposed
I felt the bird’s unfailing pecks, plunging me into the fear that one day
I will turn my neck and see that the Raven has chosen to stay.
A raven perched and called softly for my name
Stripped bare of my name, taking an identity for itself to claim
Periled at the precipice of Time, crimson seams dot and surface my skin,
Lest these relentless ruminations carry on, lest these unruly lamentings win
How long could I keep persisting, holding onto a thin dissolving string of hope?
Or will I cease existing, and watch this life topple down the slope—
The world that I know of today, tilts and teeters on a trembling axis,
Tired that nothing is here to stay; my tomorrows wasting into an abyss
My mind is twisting and turning, like curling knobs of doors;
Creaking and closing on me, as it always did before,
Dimmed and damned without a thing to look for.
Illuminating warm sepois of yellow brown
Immerse the foiled veils of darkness; the curtain’s gown
Over the fabricky suede beds with its calm allure
Until wooden fixtures are filled with light demure
And the room is painted with shades of time
Aged and solemn in obscure corners of grime
It is one day older, and one day weaker
The ashen gray walls — one color bleaker.
#4 Aki / Autumn (今度の秋)
When it becomes Autumn, the withered leaves slowly fall (hara~hara)
The Sakuras change color, and the drowsy flowers sleep
And I wonder if the words will eventually be forgotten
Fura~fura (breeze blowing) — are you listening carefully to the voice of the wind?
The sun is hung dead center in the sky
And all of the people are tramping (teku-teku) around
It’s a new day, after all.
So, this is one of the first poems I’ve written in Japanese as well as the first audio I’ve uploaded of myself speaking in it. The words enclosed in parentheses are un-translatable native Japanese onomatopoeia sound words. I was thinking about the scenery from “5cm per second” and other movies by Makoto Shinkai so I made this. I’m sure there’s a bunch of grammar mistakes littered in it, but as someone who’s never done this and gotten rusty with Japanese, I think this is definitely a good shot.
There is a block, a wall — call it what you will
From where you are and where I am; a stark contrast
The silences, however, sound more like a shrill
As lingering waves of muffled whispers protrude past.
My ears hurt as unkempt leg pluckings of krill
And sandy grains of noise dissolve in a sea so vast
Walking across dampened sand, I held up a conch shell
Only to listen and hear that it has nothing left to tell
A scent so strong, too long, has made you weary.
Could you opt for fitted navy jeans, stylishly plaid shirts
And black squeaky converses (its sole speckled with dirt)?
Hope to mask the truffles of your hair with a metro wig
Throw in a tie or two, perhaps a suit (I wonder if it’d suit you)
Not always comfortable with dresses, all these intricate tresses
But you wonder and ask, if this is all it takes to be a boy,
You’re still blatantly subjected to standards you could not enjoy.
Afterall, not all boys wear suits and ties — why do you want to wear it?
And not all girls wear skirts and dresses — why turn away from it?
Dabble the sponge in sparkles of brown — perhaps black,
Softly sweep as you paint across the eye and back
Keep drawing as soft etchings and pencil sketchings further define
The subtle hairs of your lashes, with ink fringing the eye line.
Today, this shall be you, as true as a mirror could be true
Granted with a new face; an old identity to efface
No longer as I was before, I ponder
As the sun rays seeped through my pores.
A short and storybook-like story written by me — this was inspired by some modern-day scenarios and situations like the idealization of beauty, conforming to social standards, and interracial relationships (or loving in spite of differences).
There once lived a Raven. Its suede body was glossed over beautifully with a shade of midnight black. It blended into the dark recesses of the darkest night, and you’d gaze at its piercing color as it flew in the light of day. When the people of the village saw a raven, they quietly hushed down as they peered from their window sills, and closed their windows in a soft, sad whisper. The Raven did not know why, and the Raven continued to grow to wonder why and why.
There once lived a Dove. Its feathers and wings were thoroughly washed with silky white, and it carried the youthful forever promises of love, because love itself was draped richly with ribbons and dainty pink primroses. The Dove blended softly into the lustrous locks and streaks of the airy clouds, and glinted with an entrancing twinkle at night. When the people of the village saw a dove, they quietly hushed down as they peered from their window sills, and opened their windows in a soft, excited whisper, nudging “here, here,” offering the little amount of bread that they had.