a philosophy of life blog
we each love
in our own voice
with our own songs
and with rhythms
only we know
and those
who’ve been lucky
to be loved by us
we each love
with our own colors
with our own brush strokes
and on canvas
only we know
and those
who’ve been lucky
to be loved by us
we each love
with our own struggles
with our own scars
and with an energy
only we know
and those
who’ve been lucky
to be loved by us
I remember the day
I realized
my freedom
was my greatest possession
that was the same day
I lost the last
thread of hope
in creating a future
that wasn’t drawn for me
it was when I realized
that the loss of freedom
was merely death
delayed
if I were a fairy
my magic would be
turning your dreams
into paintings,
covering your ceilings
with those pictures,
making sure
you fall asleep
to the images
of your dreams
and that you wake up
believing
you could reach them
our bodies
live in homes
of measurable sizes
and travel on wheels
of measurable speed
we see our movements
in physical spaces,
but what ripples
do we make
in another’s mind?
my carefree years
they passed by
suddenly
but delightfully
like tapas
at my favorite
Spanish restaurant
before I knew it
I was not seven
but seventeen,
a different kind
of naive
a decade
is a lifetime
at certain years,
like how some seconds
are seasons
all on their own
when you’re in awe
I am seven again
and I’m searching
for the broken record
my parents said
I’d often play
it’s vinyl
ancient
played
a hundred times
by others before me
my record
sat on the dresser
where I’d sit
when confusion
and tears
overpowered me,
where I’d play
the verse
I’d soon memorize
“you don’t love me”
sometimes,
I feel seven again
and love means
never being mad
it means
reading my mind
and synchronizing
your heart
with mine
so please,
when I’m seven again
just remind me
gently
that I’m closer
to twenty-seven
Contentment
is the shy cousin
of Happiness
when you meet her
you’ll wonder why
she’s rarely spoken of
you’ll find yourself lost
in the slowness
of her breath
in the depth
of her smile,
and you’ll wonder
why she’s rarely spoken of
she doesn’t distract,
her presence
doesn’t erase
your worries
but she soothes
you pain
and leaves you
wondering
why she’s rarely spoken of
I look in the mirror
to find you
who they’ve called Aaliah
“exalted one”
but for today
I want to rename you
I’ll call you Aidah today
“returning one”
because I know tomorrow
you’ll be back
greeting me again
with the hope
of a little girl
who was named Aaliah
I’ve been falling in love
with seasons lately
first summer, then fall
and slowly but surely
winter
but spring
I’ve known I’ve loved
all along
so when the cold
withers away,
I whisper sweet nothings
an ode to spring
and I dream of fields
of tulips
I’ve only seen
on a screen
the soul of spring
is caught in April
with all her whimsical,
wild, and wonderful
the spring I’ve known
I’ve loved
all along
It’s 2 AM and I can’t sleep. Soft lullabies fill the gaps between my thoughts, but I keep thinking of the ones I love. They keep me awake.
I remember a conversation with a professor of mine who told me he could never sleep at night. He says this to me as we clear the tables after a charity dinner in honor of his loved one. Ever since she passed, he can’t sleep at night. He takes these pills, swallows them with his 3 A.M. restless thoughts, as he grades student papers or reads the latest publishings on the state of our world.
I’ve never met a man so able at hiding his pain, though I’ve often heard men are good at that.