Skip to main content

Gift



I gift her shampoos, whole wheat flour, soaps and instant oats
pencils and home food
not porcelain mugs, vases or bouquet of fancy candies
nor DVDs or moonlit nights

it is my way of saying something
that something is yet unknown to me
or to my mind
the word “something” is limiting
“everything” has unlimited exposition

she brings the gift of selfies with
a face full of pain and tears
much more than this
she gifts me unlimited horizons
of laughing over situations
that are gifted to us

she likes those gifts or that’s what she says
she gives me love (not a cliché)
of the kind that’s unimaginable
it is beautiful than love itself
although it is not love
it is neither anything else

she shows her recently shampooed hair
and I see the scene in a slow motion
and the aroma touches my nostrils
and she washes her face at a tap
in an open-air café
and let the water dry, naturally
she loves the coolness of the water
and I look at her face
that has a sudden glow
is it the water?

then she walks and talks and laughs and nods
and listens without listening
the immaculate attention that she doesn’t give
or the phases of her naughty eye movements

irrespective of what I gift to her
or what she gives me as a return gift
I find her trajectory of living riveting

Ella es un regalo
y cuando cierro los ojos
todo lo que veo es un niño





Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Rise with you

  When the sun stretches its golden arms, and the morning whispers your name, I think of you, steady as the tide, warm as the hearth, a beacon in the quiet storm.   Your laughter, a melody that dances through the chaos, a song I hum when the world grows heavy. Your spirit, unyielding, a tree rooted deep, its branches reaching for the infinite sky.   In your presence, I am more. Not because you fill me, but because you remind me of the light I carry within. You are the mirror that reflects the beauty I often forget.   Together, we are a symphony— not perfect, but alive, each note a testament to the joy of being seen, of being known. You are my safe harbour, my compass in the wild, my friend, my love, my vista   And when the night falls, and the stars blink awake, I will rise with you not above, not below, but besides, always besides, in the quiet grace of this boundless love.   And when the night descen...
Post a Comment
Read more

Morning Walk

  I was smitten by the silence of the dawn, or perhaps it was the dew that clung to the grass like a secret too fragile to speak. The trees stood tall, their leaves whispering stories of nights spent wrestling the wind, and I thought it was just me but the sparrow, too, carried the weight of its nest, the ant its crumb, the spider its web, each thread trembling with the burden of holding on.   The sun rose, not with a fanfare, but with a quiet insistence, pushing through the haze like a hand reaching for a forgotten name.   A butterfly brushed past, its wings a flicker of pale yellow against the orange sky, and I thought it was just me but the flower, too, had its petals to unfurl, its nectar to offer, its brief, bright moment in the sun.   The path stretched ahead, winding through the shadows and the light, and I thought it was just me but the earth, too, had its cracks to mend, its roots to...
Post a Comment
Read more

Hope

Hope is a green vine, climbing the walls of the forgotten, its tendrils reaching for the sun even in the hour of shadows. It does not ask permission— it grows, it persists, it wraps itself around the ruins and whispers, “Me Voici”   Hope is the sea, vast and untamed, its salt on your lips, its rhythm in your chest. It does not sleep it rises, it falls, it carries you even when you cannot see the shore.   Hope is the bread broken in the darkest hour, the warmth of shared hands, the taste of something that will not let you starve. It does not explain it feeds, it sustains, it says, Come, eat, there is enough for everyone.   Hope is the bird that sings at the edge of dawn, its song a thread stitching the torn sky. It does not falter it calls, it rises, it reminds you that the night is not eternal. Hope is the hand you did not expect to hold yours, the voice that says your name when the silence is too loud. It does not abandon it stays, it breathes, it says, You are not alone...
Post a Comment
Read more