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Cliffette's Journal

Through saffron washed shades,

My sleepless eyes peep at the bright Sunday sun.

My familiar green purse with my stock of change,

I set out from home, this Sunday morning,

Without my glasses, my weekday eyes.

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The damp trees all stand, towering over me…

Smug and sated after drizzles for the last few nights…

Like a witch’s prickly hair and pointed hat,

The willowy branches seem to point at me.

Forming black curves against the whipped blue sky.

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Colourful paper squares soar overhead,

Tied to invisible cords spinning from spindles,

Held by unseen hands, all children out of sight…

Hazy lines of gleaming pinballs come rolling down,

The flyover down the road that draws towards town…

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Something special is happening  today–

Some kind of campaign, some race-like procession.

Horse drawn carts racing along with motorbikes;

Car windows shooting out overgrown men,

Scarves tied on the heads, flapping…

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Sin Cera

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What is that revenge if it’s not taken with a passion?

 

Of, what use would that murder be,

If it doesn’t satiate the bloodthirsty anger?

 

And definitely, is there a way that

Love will find the way out and into your heart,

Unless you learn to set it free?

I Promise

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The clouds have wafted away,

The moon, clear and high,

Tonight.

After a long, long time,

I have felt you, on my skin.

In my heart.

Got a whiff of your breath,

That I’m so greedy to take.

To kiss those lips, I used to tremble,

Me, today, they’ve touched.

Like starting it all over again.

Don’t know of what the future holds,

But I’m sure of myself, I will not change.

So, under your rusted balcony,

In the rain and the sun,

Holding a bunch of poppies,

For you, my soul, my love,

I’ll be there waiting for forever.

Will you say, yes?

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Please comment!!!

Cliffette's Journal

What is the Dove? But a meek, unfortunate creature,
It is but a prey at the powerful hands of Man…
What can it possibly teach our civilization, the mightiest of all?
It can’t teach anything, not until we first learn to be uncivilized of all.

Man is civilized, and yet brothers fight like bulls,
Run for the waving, red flag of power, but forget they become colorblind.
As mighty monuments of hopes of passed eons get razed to ash,
Man has terrorized the Dove to silence, as if God’s only creation was Man.

Leaders promote war, destruction, and hatred, and then they apologize
And yet, they wear Doves on clean white, the day, they laugh at behind.
Sync anthems written by brothers who have a way with words to guise,
As in their heart they know, peace for Mankind will never actualize.

But I say, we can, but not until…

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I’ll be Me, and You’ll be You.

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It’s the fact that it’s you out there, is the only thing that keeps me going.

I don’t know how else I could’ve gotten past my laziness and thought of all the good I can do.

All I could do by myself was sit inside my warm room, indulging like Hypnos himself,

Or flutter around settling my scores with all the people who wronged me, like Nemesis.

You took that from me forever, with the gifts of humility, forgiveness and patience.

With your persistent rejections, you filled me with stronger determinations.

I’ll be Artemis – I’ll hunt you forever, and You will be Apollo, in your blazing chariot.

Racing across the skies for all of eternity, and though I know, you’ll never be mine,

I’ll be content to see you for once, every day, at dawn…to start my day with.

Aged

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The morning light touches me with a twinge of guilt,
When my sunken eyes peer through tear splashed glass.
The night of mighty dust gales had hidden stars from me.
The tempest of last night, has left my courtyard wet,
The rains washed my glasses clean, also the last tears.
Messed my hair, but smoothened out many other things.
The storm has passed now, now that morning’s hit the streets,
The winds, I had learned to tame, have blown me back home.

Destiny

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Little feet once jingled with bells,

Used to run across your porch.

You picked up the babe

And put it behind the bars.

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That was for its good you would say,

Maybe then, it needed your care.

But twenty years later it doesn’t,

Why then the confinements still reinforced?

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It’s a lion’s cub, you got there, you may not realize yet.

And since you cannot harness a predator that magnificent,

Learn to let him out into the wild – he’s born to rule,

Not loiter around here and there, he isn’t a cat in your house…

Cured of Your Pride

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It’s been long since,

Since i’ve been living on scraps.

Faraway stars too dimmed my heart’s shine,

Once which used to burn as bright as the sun.

It’s been long since a smile sprang up,

Willingly on my desiccated lips,

Which once used to be as plush as a plume.

Blackened by poisons, and waiting,

For your presence in my room.

Hopes never germinate from ashes,

And one that would rise,

I’ve smashed that spark with a painful butt.

And fed it a handsome drink to kill.

It would have burnt me up, I felt.

In no time, an inferno spreading like a wildfire.

I gave up everything, even the hope of winning one day…

Without love, without hope I took to live, in my poor hut.

But then the Phoenix rose, from the wet ashes, outdoor,

And took a flight right through my window.

All the smothered prayers, and beheaded hopes,

Were finally answered in my favor.

Finally destiny brought you back outside my door.

It’s your familiar knock on my door,

I know from imagining you in many of my fantasies,

But it’s been long since I haven’t had that dream,

While I burned all along, hoping to see it all once again,

But then your knock was never heard, when I needed it most.

My ears, exploited with loud music for quick escapes,

Cannot hear it now when it’s really you,

Knocking, on my door.

I wouldn’t ask for your forgiveness,

For my ill behaviour–

Since it’s been long and you never apologized for yours.

But I wouldn’t open up my door.

Once you stranded me all alone, but stronger I am now.

Today I’m a girl out of love, but my heart’s happy tonight.

My pride, you wounded, I broke yours.

Come tomorrow, we’ll share a verse.

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Cliffette's Journal

O’ you, miserable, miserly wretched geek,

You are poor, even though you think you’re rich.

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Because numbers in your bank passbook,

Doesn’t stand for smiles that take your look.

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Waking up, you will see it one day,

You’re left alone, and the world has moved on…

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All cooped up inside your little nest, you are

Like an angry, very angry bird.

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As much you want,

You can peck and punch through your walls,

But no ear still, will hear your cries.

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(You can’t eat your gadgets,

I know you will not ever–)

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Ashtrays will go on piling up, more and more

The dustbin overflowing with paper and rust.

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Decaf will always remain stuck to your mug,

But no one’s home to do the dishes tonight.

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Old and haggard, you’ll turn with time,

No smile you’ll get, just scowls and butts.

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Lying…

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High

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O’ you, miserable, miserly wretched geek,

You are poor, even though you think you’re rich.

.

Because numbers in your bank passbook,

Doesn’t stand for smiles that take your look.

.

Waking up, you will see it one day,

You’re left alone, and the world has moved on…

.

All cooped up inside your little nest, you are

Like an angry, very angry bird.

.

As much you want,

You can peck and punch through your walls,

But no ear still, will hear your cries.

.

(You can’t eat your gadgets,

I know you will not ever–)

.

Ashtrays will go on piling up, more and more

The dustbin overflowing with paper and rust.

.

Decaf will always remain stuck to your mug,

But no one’s home to do the dishes tonight.

.

Old and haggard, you’ll turn with time,

No smile you’ll get, just scowls and butts.

.

Lying in your bed you’ll cough and toss,

But no hand will touch your forehead with love.

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Then only two options you have: rub your fat snout,

With a clean white sheet, and come out, right now!

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Or, live in it. And smoke up your life,

Puff by puff, soaring higher and higher,

Like a very angry bird.

By, Cyril Cliffette © 2012

Solitary Musings #2

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He said to Man, “Thou shall reap the rewards, as thou hath sown the seeds…”

Why then, He brings in storms and floods to wash away our efforts and sweat?

Why, proving, that our sins of passion and innocence puts us in an eternal hell,

Does He sit in heaven, tempting us to dream of a paradise that will never be ours…

To enjoy the tragic comedy he had created?

And we thought Fathers love their children…

*sigh*

IN LAMENTATION: SONG OF THE DAWN

Aside

The moon spends her last moments for the day,
Watching, mournfully, her forbidden lover, the sun
Heartbroken at their most lamented, transient union,
Even the winds of heaven moan…
Beauty lies bare, tears refuse to quell, stay clinging to eyes which empathize…
The only solace which is lost upon their grief.
For eons they have travelled an eternity, distraught, barred from love,
Yet facing each other every day for a little while…
But who’s got a say in this unfair judgment…
It’s written, forsaken is their fate to create our dawn…

In Transition

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**NOTE: Read it with empathy.**
Tonight, my hand shakes.
I cannot hold my pen,
Nor can I type.
I cannot write!
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Tonight nothing can help me,
No, I am not drunk, not even a little.
I am not high, and the ones who make me
Aren’t here. Cheers on their divine names.
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I and hypocrisy have a long nemesis,
Tonight I am avenging my cause–
All those nights of tempestuous overtures,
And torments for self containment.
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Hot, prickling, irksome — tears moisten my cursed lashes.
The broken dreams, like glass, jabs mercilessly into my flesh.
When I think and realise, revenges are going nowhere,
When it comes down to those, whose against I stand.
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Love, that once washed inside me, like a flooded river,
Is slowly molding into a separate earth. Of cold stone.
But still in the deeps, love boils and spits, like an ominous volcano.
One passionate quake, and the rocks would all collapse…
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But I cannot lose this war, I cannot!
Cannot let the rocks collapse…cannot let myself hope again.
(As if I can hold back such a phenomenon!)
Because, it’s me, and it’s always been me, I cannot write!
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Untouched. Forsaken, I’ll remain, frozen.
Waiting for my love to die. But also hoping, he’d give in,
And the cracked earth will soak in the tempest,
Slaking the eternal thirst of the dry, scorched rocks.
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Smothering the love…
Dammit, fantasies again!
I cannot write!
I just cannot.