Yellow Spring

 Tapping my hands, 

Tapping my hands, 

The click clacks,

And the Ticktocks.

Tapping my hands, 

Tapping my hands, 

With sighs and smiles,

Finally seen the miles.

Tapping my hands,

Tapping my hands, 

Roses and lilies we want,

It has grown with grand. 

Tapping my hands, 

Tapping my hands,

Jumping, soaring high,

Sight in hands and bloomed.

Tapping my hands, 

Tapping my hands, 

Yellow was mellow, 

Sunflowers in my hands, 

Tapping my hands, 

Tapping my hands, 

My heart is full, 

Daisies in Drool!

Tapping my hands, 

Tapping my hands, 

Birds of Paradise, 

Spring has come! Hold it nice!

Before Vernal Equinox

 The land has dried and cold,

The world seems hard and bold,

Precious lives and has been told, 

That bodies are trivial and old.

The world suffered and stopped,

Stopped to its tracked and watched, 

Countries were poked with shocked,

That a virus has skills to chill and kill.

Three years have passed, 

The world is still taken aback,

Recovery is still on hold,

In the stronghold of the world.

The spring will come,

Give it time, it'll be fine,

Life goes on and on, 

Abandon hurt and forlorn.

Wake with the sun up high,

Or with clouds in the sky,

The new season will come and speak, 

To our hearts that strong and meek.

Melodies and strings

Making melody in my heart

Has my passion grown apart,

Making melody in my heart, 

Woes and toes are made of art.

Making strings and lullabies,

Crooning to a baby song,

Making strings and lullabies, 

Has cried with bliss and tears.

Chest-filled laughter and fears, 

Only standing for the brave, 

As tones of the concave, 

Are for great melodies and strings.

Beers and Cheers

People were high!

Strangers do not sigh, 

Stars are brimming in the night sky.

The warm bonfires, 

Crackling wood that stood, 

In the middle of the vast woods.

Cheers can be heard, 

Over the sounds of  birds,

Beers and cheers are blurred!

Smiles and touch stay,

Cold drinks on display, 

Beers and cheers in the middle of the bay!

Memories fade,

Grew fonder with age, 

Beers and cheers can be of aid!

Painters of the Wind

Tiny wings flapped,

Periwinkle started to twinkle,

Giggling while they mingle,

Swooping and flying, 

Laughing and Cackling, 

A sight to behold,

Will it unfold?

Human eyes can't see,

The wind that comes with me,

Littles wings swooping,

Giving colors and soothing,

The wind was clear,

Only feel and hear,

The Colors will adhere.

These tiny hands and feet,

Seeing them is a feat,

These puny flyers with me, 

I will help you see,

The power and wonder, 

Their charm and cheer, 

The painters of the wind would be.

Pop! Pop!

It came floating in the sky,

The wind has given its might,

This has always been a sight,

Pop! Pop! Bubbles in the night.

The night was cold as ice,

Our breath was made of vapors,

With the cold air outside, 

Pop! Pop! Bubbles in the night.

The cheer! The Bliss!

From the innocent child,

Has made our hearts full,

Pop! Pop! Bubbles in the night. 

Coffee and Tea

Hearing the crashing sounds,

The flow of water and its warmth,

The aroma that hit the nostrils,

And the anticipation was a thrill.

You sat near the window and see,

Wishing that rain will seep and drip,

As if an addition to the cup you sip,

The flavor improves drastically.

The half cup was finished,

And the bushy hair that you wanted to see,

Finally arrived with sweat and a smile,

Oh boy! That was made sheepishly.

Your heart skipped for while,

He has ordered his usual tea,

Started talking with an impish grin,

Indeed this place is a canape.

What we drink may be acidic or bitter,

Or seemed ancient or back-numbered, 

But conversations are really sweet,

With a pair of coffee and tea. 

Birdcage

Flapped your wings and fly,

Do not waste your time and sigh,

As the blue and purple sky,

Was for us to make us wander and lie,

That the world was flat and dry.

This iron-clad prison,

Limited us from going in unison,

To work on a congress and see,

That outside is not as free,

The cage wants us to see that life outside is chancy.

Not everything we see is true,

Validated feelings are long overdue,

We have to witness what is true, 

For each life has value,

Yes! We are like a bayou.

Would you rather not see,

How an encaged bird will be,

If let out and free,

Thou small and slow at times,

What flow it can be?

Dried Flowers

Flowers have their own time to bloom,

Started as an ordinary shrub,

If the day was right,

If the sun was bright,

If the bees have gone by,

Its time will come,

To show the world,

That she has grown and bloomed.

In time, it has served lovers,

Families and churches,

Graves and parks,

It will leave its marks.

But beauty is not infinite, 

It can end, it can be withered,

No water, no minerals,

No sunshine, no rain,

Can stop this natural wonder?

Arid and weak, dried flowers we speak,

It has dull colors and seemed meek,

It has its unique beauty as we speak,

Though aged and parched, 

Dried flowers utter memories and hearts.

Unfair

Ignorant and carefree,

Happy and free,

Helpful and kind,

Is this why it's a Deja vu?

Blinded with a skin,

Glistening and attracting, 

The power took hold

Their advantage and fold.

Turned to the powerless, 

Fault and conspiracies,

Were from us, the weak,

We are the cause, we are to seek.

It's nasty and pungent, 

It fills the room with scent,

The scent that we despise,

The spice we're ready to vomit. 

My Love

Chasing cars and sunsets,

Hoping that what's missing will be seen,

And the walkway will be filled,

Filled with flowers; blooming and soothing.

My love has gone up and down,

    Had taken left and right,

    Spiraling and squared, 

    Yet, it has grown like grass without a bed.

We always wish for a "greener pasture", 

 Young love has that and that is all,

    My love has been rosy ignoring its thorn,

    That the love I have, had me burned.

Looking back, experience has its worth,

 Affection has different paths and routes,

    My love has taken directions that honed, 

A love you don't have is not something you can provide.

Sticks and stones

Scarred for life, for the age, it has started,

Young and naive, adults thought of reprieved,

Nobody's cognizant of the sticks and stones,

That has warped a child's mind and bones.

The world has developed but will it change?

    For a soul that has been broken,

    For a soul that has been pure,

        Will they make things happen?

For a lamb that has lost its way,

    Will it recognize the path it has to take?

        Can it change its way to be with the flock,

            Or stay and be mad that this has to be mocked?

The tears fallen and innocence destroyed, 

    Violence has taken over, people are annoyed,

        Violating others in exchange for pride,

        But still wondering why their nights are filled with fright.

        

Victims must make peace with their fear,

    That it will come but needs to be dealt with, 

        That the sticks and stones are now a myth,

And animate a world of happiness and gifts.

Life is a comedy

 I have heard and tried,

    That a smile can mean a cry,

        And cries can mean a cheer,

            And that life is quite queer.

Threading from left and right,

    And trying to do what's right,

    In the end, joy creeps at night,

     And so is sorrow and its feat.

Laughter has paraded its use,

    Some have gone and bemused,

        Reality hurts like thorns,

            But as long as the roses are born, 

                You can stay satire or mourn.

Life is a comedy,

That the audience has failed to see,

That darkness is needed for light,

 The stage we have called life. 

Your Perfume

 I have it around me;

Its traces on my pillows,

Or the clothes you previous worn,

Or the hat that has been torn. 

The magnetism it bears,

The scents that explode with wood,

Attracted to a desolate heart of good,

Your essence can change the mood.

Your endearing presence,

Which you unaware of, 

Has stirred a guarded soul,

Wondering when will it go?