Hope is a like a Moon on a distant sky
Like your glistening skin
Turning crimson in the night candle
Your body melting like a wax
Your eyes like brown pearls in the white Oyster shells
Your fingers like you were weaving carpets
When you were suppose to make wooden toys
Night sings the songs of comfort and joy
Like the black silk sheets clinging to you
As if you were the peacock feathers
Hope is dreams of lands
So out of reach of my feet
Hope is the songs when it ringsits bells
I feel tired , happy and disillusioned
All at the same time
Hope is a journey without arrival.
My father brought me up to be kind. He brought me up to be just like himself. Through years, I only saw the good in people, for that was what I thought kindness meant. But, I don't think I understood that quality all that well, because I let it turn me blind to the fact that the people I was going out of my way for, were only using me.
At the age of 15, I could no longer stand people who were mistreating me. Yet, all those values my parents taught me, kept me from confronting them. So, I started letting my anger take the form of verses. I wrote about everything that curtailed me of my calm and peace.
It worked for me.