my "otherwise"...

I've become what people call a "crying jag", and yet I don't know why. 

Maybe it's the chemistry (the oxytocin in the air), the atmosphere and the weather that is giving me the chills. I do sound self-obsessed when I say this. But a few days back, I was Darth Vader! Literally jeering at everyone and getting a kick out of everything. And all of a sudden now, here's my alter ego: Plain Jane with the Flu. -_-

Well, anyways I have been doing some poetry-hunting. And here's an unforgettable poem that was once taught to me in the world literature classroom, IB. :) 

It's simple, down-to-earth and longs for something; which is how I felt when its words touched me to the core. I had dedicated this poem to someone once, and it still remains one of my favorite poems.

Otherwise
I come
from an opposite country
to yours, where water spirals
and the moon waxes
otherwise.
my stars assemble in unfamiliar patterns
and I watch often
not traffic or television
but hour by hour the huge tide
absently fingering rocks and small shells
and the wet brown kelp
where fish go sliding through.

if you were with me now
on my favorite beach
we’d watch the distant seismograph
of silver peaks darkening to indigo
and walk on the breakwater
towards the harbor mouth,
disturbing the flocks of terns
that wheel up shrieking in slim wild voices
to land again behind us
renewing their conference. I would slip
my cold hand in your pocket,
you’d look at me and grin
and we would walk together quietly
right to the very end,
where big chained rocks hold back
the same Pacific ocean, lumbering in.

~Cilla McQueen, 2001

Angry young lady with a custard fetish.

I made custard.

the likes of which is yellow,

a milky-jello,

my mouth, a round “O”.

my buds need revival; 

good food, yore and 

more. It’s often me that 

chases pigeons nested by 

the building and makes a 

dog yowl, a yank of it's tail. 

Critters, I can’t help it, 

this is, me.

Embodiment, bold.

Au natural, a figurative cook;

mutton chops, cream tarts

and a custard fetish!

Drunken fancies

Reality swims before
me; in a torpedo of
thought. A swim in
an ocean, Paradise,
where I want it to be;
roar of the angels;
and a death dance
of spirits, eternal.

They beckon me,
their melancholy
matches mine;
an epiphany; a
death dream and
my darkling knight.
I covet thee,
consume me, till I
want no more.

On the bus ride home.

there is little to do, in this hot, hot sun
but watch passers by, as they
dismount at each stop, few more wade in.
sultry winds of change make it through
the windows, with little ado,
it's swelteringly humid, and my head
pounds with the heat.
i keep reminding myself, it's just a few
more stops around the corner.
but then, there goes again, the scurry
of auto-mobiles and the waiting
at each traffic signal, signs that imply
this heat will never end.

Prelude to Insanity

'Tis a glimpse of memory and of sanity,
a narrow bridge, joining two souls;
the heart which oscillates in serpentine marvel,
in symphony, and mine.

I cannot match again, his umbra of a soul.
A figure that entwined with my own,
a world of artifice.
Now lie broken and charred pieces of
porcelian, white.

Time flows, as clocks tick;
I'm but grit in the briny deep.
I wait for the prelude and my epiphany
sings, "here lies..." an epitaph marking two
birds but one flesh. Ageing acutely,
but damning the other's soul. 

Little Things.

It's the little things on my
Mind right now,
The things that count,
And things which remind me
Of a higher power, indelibly
Watching over us as we play.

It's the little things that make me
Question, why people leave and not
Stay by us forever, and why the sun
Doesn't shine while it rains.

It's the little things that I miss,
What makes me sad and blue,
When I don't want to.
It's the little things that we don't
Often see enough to appreciate.

The Master, who heals us
From the hurts that life scrapes on
Our smooth mirrors;
It's a test of patience, and
Perseverance, for our faith
In His Grace should never wane.
He sets right all, that He has taken
And gives back in equal measure.

We ought to live, and
Thank Him for the beauty
He has graced our world with.
He provides for us with food,
And solace, to live and enjoy.
Mother nature has planned
To the greatest detail, our lives.
And little thoughts on His gifts
Would make all the difference.

Sky-fall

It's like being plunged
into a sky-fall; I don't
quite like the anticipation
of what could be danger below.
It's the clouds that mist
over the horizon to the far
left. And in this sinking pit of
feeling, a crushing despair
reverberates deep in my belly;
an echo after another echo,
the jolting crunch being too
physically agonizing, for me
to make a sound.

It's like my impaled heart
gave out moments before
I hit reality, as a rock that hits
the calm ocean. The fullness of
the deep waters, measuring
the empty spaces in my
heart which skipped beats;
moments before that sickening
crunch, before I lost control.