Tag Archive | memories

Frangipani Evening

after a storm
the world was asleep
It was just us
in the stillness
in the scented air
and the hundreds
of frangipani blossoms
fallen on the grass.

The cold air, the fragrance
the rainkissed white flowers
the mischievous laughter
the empty streets
the starry, starry night –

they were ours for a time
they were ours for forever;
and I will never forget
the scented softness
the playful smiles
the trail of dreams
we built with what we found

And even though
morning came
and claimed the world again,

I still smell the sweetness
I still hear the silence
I still walk that trail

I always will

as I did that night with you.

* Alassëa nosta, Legolas-y!



Reminiscence and Regret

She sits
alone in the silence
of the city’s most opulent room
In her aged hands,
a bouquet of weeds
Dry, brittle
As fragile as memory itself
and she remembers…

Youth, in the countryside
A young girl
with the lure of neon lights
in her eyes
And a boy
who offered her the stars instead.

She remembered
how she chose the unknown
knowing it would break his heart
not knowing
it would also break hers.

But as the train rolled away,
her tears fell on his final gift
Fragrant, familiar
the final offering
of a broken heart.

In one moment
a frozen teardrop of time
all she knew
was the urge to cry out –

Stop! Wait –
I have made a mistake…

But the impulse is silenced

So the train rushed on
And life rushed on

And the musty sweet scent
of dried wildflowers

is all that is left
of the dream.


The Saddest Lines

by Pablo Neruda*

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, ‘The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.’

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another’s. She will be another’s. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

translated by W.S. Merwin

*definitely one of my favorite poems by one of my favorite poets



I think of you when it rains. I think of your laughter piercing the sweet sharp coolness of the air as we walk and talk under the cold, clear, rainwashed stars. I see it all again – the wet pavement reflecting the glow from the lightposts, the drenched, dark acacia trees beside the empty, silent road, the ethereal softness of mist rising off grass soaked with diamonds. But most of all, I see you. And I see myself as I wish I could be right now – beside you.

I miss you most after it rains.

***for Ella and Bum =)


This is me now…

I’ve been reminiscing today…reading my journal and that tattered notebook where I scribble poems. I haven’t been able to do that lately – reminiscing, I mean.

It is a bittersweet experience. I read old letters to myself, unsent letters to him, and journal entries of every special memory. Everything rushes back. All those giddy, triple-exclamation-point words tell me how deeply, how hopefully I loved. I was never able to write a real poem about us. I wrote one for him, for his birthday, but it never even came close to saying how I really felt inside. I guess that’s just how it is – when you’re happy, intensely happy, words don’t suffice. And I was happy then. Joyful, exhilarated, intoxicated with dreams and endless possibilities. Anything, everything was possible. We were in love.

I move on through my journal, a few months after that first my-dreams-are-coming-true entry. Here, the exclamation points give way to question marks. The poems fill seventeen pages. The unsent letters are more than I care to count. There are tear stains on the paper. Here, the emotions are fresh – I do not need the words to bring back memories of the pain, the confusion, the emptiness. I can remember. It was almost a year ago, but I can still remember everything. How every unanswered question I wrote down cut like a knife. How I doubted the reality of the memories I recorded a few pages before. How I couldn’t write more than a few phrases before giving in to tears. My words recall my journey through denial, disappointment, grief, and finally resignation and letting go. I read the lines “maybe some dreams are destined to die…” and a part of me, a small part really, wishes that I didn’t have to grow up and learn that. Strange how a few months can change a whole lifetime.

As I read the last poem, I remember writing it and wondering how I would feel someday, wondering if I would ever heal. I can finally answer those questions. Yes, I have healed. Yes, I can smile again, real smiles that hide no tears beneath the surface. I can laugh again without feeling like a fraud. It is amazing, really, to remember all that and realize that I am finally free. Only now are the questions being answered, but renewal has already taken place. I had something more than time to heal me. I had Love. Perfect, steadfast, forever Love. It is enough. No, more than enough.

And so I look back and smile. I do not deny that I still have regrets and questions, nor do I claim to have quelled the love that has given me so much joy and has taught me how to cry. My life is a work in progress, and healing is not the same as forgetting. But I am no longer tied to the memories. I can, as the cliche says, move on. Live on. And someday, at the right someday, love again.


Coming Full Circle

The cherry trees are in bloom again. I sit under their shade now, on the spot where we said goodbye. I am alone, but this is fine. I have already let go of you since the last time we sat here and watched the cherry blossoms fall. I realize now that what we had then wasn’t meant to last. The pain is gone. It took quite some time, but it’s finally over. I am healed. Time does that to all wounds – it soothes them. So now, as I sit alone under the cherry trees we used to watch together, I think of you. And I’m glad, because after all the confusion, hurt, and disappointment, I find that I can finally smile. And it gives me hope that one day, this pain that I am feeling from a recent goodbye will also fade, just as the blossoms that fall today will lose their blush tomorrow.