Yesterday at UC Berkeley was a celebration of the India holiday called Holi. At Uc Berkeley and many other places this festival is considered a celebration of the coming of spring. ANd who is it celebrated you might ask? By a bunch of people gathered together in one place to throw handfuls of color at each other. This is the before photo where we are all nice and clean. It didn’t last long at all. ...
Laughter is strung out between souls Souls that will never touch or see one another But still feel the tug and pull Of the string between two cans That vibrates as words crawl from one to another Spanning the space between those who cannot see But still believe Like whispered secrets sent from window to window By children without bed times or nightlights to guide them They cling to that string and use it to weave a life With or without finding the end of that thread The thread that pulls and strains As time places the weight of distance On the iron shoulders of eternity Strumming the string of vitality Feeling the shiver before the break The untwining of the thread Right before it unravels That last grasping second as time slows Before there is the Break Can you hear the laughter drifting away On the ends of a broken string It echoes out and fades Never to reach the end of that line That was strung too tight But never tight enough to hold the other Anchored at the end Where two souls would become one Like a violin strung too tight The wires scream and grind until The breaking point And the twang of a string destroyed by the twisting of time The loss of sound with a deafening silence Brought about by the abundance of sound At the end of an unraveling thread That carried so many secrets So many laughs on sunny days The sounds of a soul crying for the other Will never find their way Left alone now in the world Knowing no one is on the other end of that string No one to listen or care Just the silence Suspended on the wind Until it is picked up again
Music notes drop with concrete feet To brick pavement crumbling underway Finding footholds that slowly dissolve Into the quicksand of time Fading away into a generation that belongs No where and to no one Being dragged downward by the music notes Cradled in your arms like anchors That you refuse to let go Clinging to as if it was life as it takes you away Gripping onto stonewalls Which crumble under the weight Of a broken string as if hell rides on its heels But there is nothing here Just a musician pulling notes from the air Like whispers from the breeze Light and free they are caught from the wind And tied to a string Spun from clouds like a child’s dreams A balloon floating away tied down by a thread That separates it from freedom By a fragile bond that quivers in the wind The anchored note roams outward With hope to stand again But is reigned in before it can drift too far Down the corridor of time For a moment it will linger there In the space before the next string is plucked And the last fades away The dying moment lingers with a sadness That is tangible in the air Suspended in a moment of being That will never come again
I went with my little brother to watch his team mates do a race in Salinas. They are the ones in the bright green helmets and amazingly colorful jerseys sporting blue, pink, and green. The Ritte team did an amazing and entertaining job. They seemed to have a lot of fun. I am proud to say that his entire team dominated the field and took first and third place in the race. It was really fun watching these passionate young men do what they do best, cycling. ...
The gramophone screams like a banshee Discontented and hungry it wails Like wind bursting in the bubbled windows That grows pregnant under the pressure, pushing outward Until the smash and clatter of glass raining down Disturbs the cold stark night air Like the nightingale’s melancholy melody for a blind poet Which rings like the rattle used to quiet The piercing shriek of a baby’s newborn whimper Which sounds like a siren Rattling in the ear drum like a stormy sea That tried to fit into a seashell too small And not strong enough to hold the raging waters Of the ocean on a twisted cloudy day Swirled with the salty wind of an ocean breeze Until the grey casts over all things Leaving only a faint line to distinguish The two worlds of above and below A gull’s cry shatters the horizon With the force of a jarring catastrophe That leaves the world jolted and trembling Waiting in that horrible suspense Of a world untrusted and unstable Tremble trifling tower You will fall inevitably Is the whispered wind’s prayer That plays with the hair of widows Sitting in attics looking out small windows Into a small empty world Crying silent tears that hit the ground like sledgehammers Signaling defeat on the dark day We cling together in the deafening storm Hugging tight and promising to never let go Even though time is loosening our grips even as we speak We cannot weather this storm Not this time This cacophony of chaos will tear us apart There you are sitting across this dark precipice And I here nursing the sickly wail Of a cracked gramophone Trying to screech out the song of you and I That was never meant to be
A shadow sits folded in on itself At the bottom of this dark hole Like a love note, written But never sent from its dark resting place Amongst the cobwebs and spinster spiders Weaving their lives from the fantasy Of gossamer thin lies Lies that build walls thicker than the fortified Walls which streak upwards like skyscrapers Surrounding this bent and hollow shadow Sitting at the bottom of this dripping well That has become her home Wretched and empty Hunched and alone she sits Like a broken marionette doll Beautiful once, but thrown away Her strings have been clipped As she fell down this hole Now she must learn to move on her own This limbs so heavy and graceless That have never belonged to her At the bottom of everything Clouds of cold air escape her barely parted lips Breathing life into this desolate place Reaching with the awkward limbs Of a bird not yet learned how to fly She feels blindly with her head held down And her eyes closed Finger tips glancing the damp walls of her prison Gliding along the rough edges of bricks Laid by careless and callous hands Not the hands of decent men Her decent hands feel the gripping edges Of stone sharp enough to draw blood But dull enough to deny hope This landscape of craters across the well’s face Are beheld like Braille under her delicate fingertips until Cringing like the legs of spider Stumbling across unwanted prey Her fingers curl and unfold again Touching gently the obstacle encountered At arms length away With eyes not seeing she understands Her fingers tracing the smooth contours Contrasted against the rough stone walls Of the petals of a plant, a vine Curling its way upwards toward sunshine She feels the twisted outline of the vine’s body As it arches upward, bending, twisting Manipulating its way up the coarse walls Of a well too deep for human souls to be released The shadow lifts its head slowly Facing upward like the crawling vine Looking without seeing with dull grey eyes She can feel the faint and distant kisses Left by the rain that fell far above Disappearing before it made ground She breathes in the moment, almost alive She reaches with her other blind hand Out, upwards, stretching to touch the rain But like the climbing vine It never quite finds its way
Oil on water Slick as the night As the morning tries to wash The darkness from your face It clings with the desperate fervor Of child to mother As a hand slides from the grasp Of one person To another And is gone This strange moment of fluidity As worlds barely touching Eyes barely meeting Only to glance away Converge Only to float silently away It is there, wrapped in this Tight tourniquet of fog That holds us closer Than a final embrace Between to people who know They will never meet again The moment before all is lost Standing at the edge of this precipice Solitary in this mist Permeable yet dividing I am lost Left behind by that evanescent flicker Of worlds stopping for a brief moment Reaching out to one another Knowing there is reason to stand still But feeling the push and pull Of a world that never knows how to stop This winding of a clock The count Of one, two, three, four Finds its way of rhyme Even as the world begins to slide Here I am still standing Not knowing the words to say Not knowing how to scream I stand in this silent emptiness Watching you recede from me
I fret back and forth, Bite my fingers for a moment Hide it by tilting my face away Look, look away Tilt my head this way and that Frame my face with worried fingers Supporting my chin on my hand Purse my lips, bite my lip Look back again —Mom! Like a thunder clap It brings me back again The clouds over my face part I smile half-heartedly I have to go She looks up at me with an odd look Lurking in her stormy grey eyes They are her father’s So much like her father I begin to bite my nails again Flick my eyes off towards the window Throwing my attention across the room So I don’t have to look at her Question looming in those haunting eyes A light but insistent tug on my dress Brings me back I look down and smile Half heartedly You are going to have so much fun I place my shaking hand on the top of her head Feeling her feathery hair Trace my finger along the red ribbon twisted Among the feathers of her hair So soft and smooth So much fun I mutter to myself as my attention drifts away again –the bus the honk hits me like a slap to the face I wince slightly Clawing to bring me back to her to here I really have to go now She reaches up with her little hands and turns The door knob slowly and with effort I place my hand over hers Helping her open the door that is too big for her I feel the softness of her unmarred hands I wonder if she feels the bones of my fingers The sadness etched lines of my hands It swings open She runs out the door Like a clumsy fawn Her back pack shifting back and forth The monster in front of the house waits Taking her away from me I hover at the doorway Unwilling to leave the threshold But unwilling to let her go –Wait! A desperate yell Bursts from my breaking heart She stops and looks back at me That question still hiding in her eyes I hesitate for only a moment And depart from the sanctuary Running down the little walkway On legs atrophied with sorrow I stop before her She says nothing Just looks up at me with stormy eyes Innocent and curious I grab the end of the red ribbon Which had come undone on her escape from the house I kneel in front of her And tie the ribbon with foolish hands That shake even as I smile Half-heartedly And look into her eyes I smooth her hair when I am finished Put my hands whittled away with grief On her small shoulders Let out a sigh That wanted to be a scream And watch As she faintly smiles and turns away The monster honks again Taking her away from me I slowly stand as the bus drives away Leaving me on the shores of my sorrow Alone With half a heart.
They had nothing to say to each other. All had been said for them behind walls, and curtains that veiled them from choice. Just as he now stands separated by a veil again, but one of a different origin this time. The veil that separates him from childhood to manhood as his bride walks down the aisle. He has never seen her face before and knows not what lies behind this barrier except for his future. He wrings his hands behind his back with fingers that shake and sweat. He is not ready. He wishes he could run or cry, do thing that a child would do. But he can’t as his future fast approaches down an aisle graced with flowers and the whispers of a family divided by a thin line. A line between exchange of goods and exchange of humans, they wonder if there is a difference. ...
My family has departed on a biking road trip adventure where my mother and I explore and hike while my brother and father ride their bikes. Our first stop is in Solvang, California just an hour past San Luis Obispo. This quaint little danish town is full of a tourist’s delights with adorable shops, beautiful architecture, and amusing things all over town. We began with a short stop at an OStrich and Emu farm which sadly was closed. We were able to sneak a couple of shots from the highway. ...