Poems

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Efelexy
The Beauty Of The Eyes Of The Mind.
~2.6 mins read
Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room’s only window.

The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.

And every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window. The man in the other bed began to live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and colour of the world outside.

The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every colour of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.

As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn’t hear the band - he could see it in his mind’s eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words. Days and weeks passed.

One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the world outside. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it for himself.

He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall. The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall.

She said, “Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you.”
(Source;- alonelylife.com)
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Guest
I ASKED FOR IT
~2.8 mins read
_10:44pm_
23th December
Another one?, I mumbled. This would make the fourth time in a row that I was seeing this very post from Richard. "What do you want for Christmas, Santa might be listening".
I've got a thousand and more items on my wishlist. Funny how I spent the whole year without achieving up to a quarter of it. This year has been a really tough one for me. The list of things I needed to buy this year was still in my old bag. Hung in my wardrobe. Forgotten.
I had spent more and enjoyed less this year. The bills, all of it was my responsibility. The expenses were way too much partly because my salary wasn't proportional to my cost of living.
I'm a 23 year old lady, who just started living a life of her own. Moving out of my family home was a difficult but necessary decision I had to take. I needed to leave home, because it was as if staying at my family house prevented me from a lot of things. I was in a stage of my life where my freedom really mattered. All I ever wanted was to get an apartment and a job till I figured out what I really wanted to do with my life. I'm a reserved girl who so much loves her space, my apartment was a proof because it was situated in the outskirts of the city, away from noise.
My apartment was a very simple one. Two bedrooms, a sizeable living room, a kitchen and a bathroom. I lived alone. No friends, no family. My cat, Nina, my only companion died last 2 months (bless her soul). My routine was as straightforward. Wake up. Shower. Breakfast. Work. Back home. Movies. Sleep. Weekends were for jogging, that's when I get to greet Stan, an aquataince I never wanted to get attached to. A friendly dude. Nice looking, with the neat hair cut and a nice smell, the one that could turn a lady on. Scent that could make your mind linger, turn dirty maybe. He tried striking an intimate conversation twice but I'd always shy away. I was still trying to figure out myself in this part of the world. My watchword was NO DISTRACTIONS and I tried my best to stick to it!
Phew! I need a laptop and a sneakers and a boyfriend, I quickly wrote in response to Richard's post. I typed it with so much doubt, well, there was no harm in trying. Santa might remember me this time around. I sluggishly kept my phone beneath my pillow and slept off.
_11:54pm_
24th December
I woke up with a startle. Was I dreaming?. I was so sure I heard it. The sound, it came from the kitchen or was it the living room? I had spent all day indoors, because I didn't go to work. My boss gave us a 3 day holiday in the spirit of Christmas celebration. I had bought myself a popcorn, barbeque and a Red wine. I got chocolates too, even though I didn't like eating them, the brown color was very pleasing to my eyes. Eating alone was dreadful, but what could I do? I made up my mind to leave home so, here I was, wallowing in loneliness and never agreeing that it was my case. I remembered littering the parlor with barbeque wrap because I was too lazy to dispose it. Could it rat? I doubted it because the last time I saw a rodent in my apartment was early last year and I got a strong repellent specially for them!
I quickly tiptoed towards the living room and then I heard it again. This time, more clearly. "Come to boyfriend baby, I got the the laptop and sneakers.
I froze. I literally fainted whilst standing. I passed out even before I saw the creepy image sitting on my sofa!




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Amygold
A COUNTRY OF HUSBANDS
~4.2 mins read
The first husband was young and lovely. He had a little nose and long fingers he used for things like planting begonias in my clay pot. I did not do flowers. So that was nice. He talked in phrases, fast clips of facts, and he worked all day and all night.
We lived in a house on the edge of the country, where the water slapped a coast that looked cut off from the ocean with a serrated knife. Our neighborhood was all scattered vegetation-- tangled green surrounding brick, rock, wood and mortar. The neighbors were loud, but the tangled green muffled the sound, so we felt but did not hear everyone. Our house had shuttered windows and a bouncy screened door that shouted when I left or returned. I did not leave much, and when I did, I returned right away, pulling the screen door open, then pausing to listen to my house's shout. 
We had wars over trivial, itty-bitty things. The itty-bitty things were broken off of one large, significant thing—my abhorrence for cleaning. Cleaning was an activity which involved a back and forth monotony that I found degrading and in risk of disrupting a delicate neurological balance that could eventually lead to insanity. So I stopped. This refusal to engage in normal household ablution led to the itty-bitty things-- dust, paper, bits of food, and so on. Wars are fought with battles; battles are tiring; on the edge nothing matters, so why bother. I left. 


The second husband had a flat nose, average fingers with half moon nails, and a body that was round and not worth discussing. He took me to the middle, which literally and figuratively resembled his nose. The world looked smashed into the ground. Trees had either all been cut down, or never planted, or perhaps yanked away by wind funnels that, apparently, according to the second husband, fell from the sky with no warning. There would be rain, a few bangs of ice upon the head, then bam-- houses, trees, cars, babies sucked up and away. 
We lived in a house in a neighborhood where all houses looked like siblings in a large house family. From a distance, the neighborhood resembled monopoly houses tossed from an airplane. I imagined them tumbling through the air, expanding in size as they fell. Then, plop: houses on grass, near a hot street. 
There were no itty-bitty battles. I did not clean, so the second husband cleaned. I complained, and he would sigh then agree, and that would be that.  
No one seemed to care that nothing grew up toward the sky. What mattered was only us, stuck to the earth, in full view of each other. Any change in weather, a pick up in wind, a thickening of clouds, anything that suggested something may reach down towards us, frightened everyone. 
But it thrilled me.
 I loved when the air turned wet and kinetic, when the wind brought in fat, dusty cumulous formations that rose up like nuclear explosions. I wanted a funnel to drop upon my head. 
After a year, I walked outside on cloudless days, across the strip of road, onto the farmland, green and lumpy under the heavy sun. I raised my hands, clasped together like a steeple, and swayed at the slightest puff of wind. I tried to feel it-- blue air touching verdant leaves. I imagined spreading out, one branch, one twig, at a time, until I muffled all noise with my thick self. I did this every day. Neighbors talked about me in huddles, their worry emerging in susurrations. The second husband asked me what he could do, how he could help. Doctors visited me. Therapists came to me out in the field, their hands up in imitation, trying to find what it was I wanted. 
I wanted a tree. So I left. 

The third husband's nose was overshadowed by large cheekbones, held up by round eyes. His hands were rough with hair like Brillo pads, and his body grew up and out like a granite chalice. He let his words blend together to form other words that could not be found in dictionaries. He moved me thousands of miles south of the line that at one time separated our country into different kinds of hate. We were so far away from this line, there were old people who still thought the line was a border to another country.
I lived on the edge again, but this one slipped into the ocean gradually, the land going through a metamorphosis of sorts-- hot and grainy to crunchy and egg shelly, to soft, to mushed-up with life and happy to be hidden. When I looked out beyond the water I saw nothing but more water and heat rising up in the distance, heavy, alive and as shaky as the old people.   
My third husband and I fought over itty-bitty things, but everyone fought over itty-bitty things. I didn't clean, so we hired a maid who said she would do it only if our house were exorcized. I allowed her to bring in an old, red-eyed minister, and they chanted while my neighbor and I drank beer. 
My third husband slept with my neighbor, so I slept with another neighbor. He switched neighbors. I switched neighbors. After a while it got old, so we giggled,     drank and forgave each other. Eventually my husband faded. I started hanging out with other women who taught me how to connect to a man like a vine to a trellis. You grow up and away then fall around the edges, just so.  

Even though I rarely know where my third husband is, I will never leave, because I don't care. And I do not want a fourth husband who will take me way across the land to a place where everyone wears sunglasses, low-cut shirts and speak in dreams. I turn on the TV to see that place, and that is all I care to know about it. 

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