The Last Goodbye Kiss
You’ll remain dwelling in memory
The vast ocean of my head
Forever out of reach, out of touch
Both of us sleeping in separate bed
We’d cherish what we’d given each
Soon that fades away, I guess that’s fine
Now you belong to someone else
And I’ll never ask you to be mine
These are my last words
Nothing shall be said more
Time bends to no man
To mend what’s broken before
The muscle beating inside these ribs cage
Firmly spoken and expressed how it feels
But only time shall reveal some day
If what’s broken today heals
A Poet on Fire
A poet is a warrior of words who fears death yet dies and rises in dreams.
A poet is the light that is hidden in the darkness and gives hope to lost souls.
A poet is a lonely mind ablaze on fire like a candlelight, and who rides on the wings of ink and paints the expanse of different worlds on canvas.
Wine and Loneliness
Sometime, I sip wine, and reminisce about old times, nostalgia taking me places I adored,
where you and I once met and or crossed paths, and even somehow for unknown or obvious reasons parted ways.
Now and then, I see us through the empty glass, after every droplets of the fine wine is evaporated, cutting my throat smoothly like fire without a fight.
Maybe I should open another bottle of fine wine and see if this loneliness brings me to your doorstep.
When you’re soaring through the sky, closer to the moon and stars, life seems simpler and pristine; for you have fewer luggages and carryons to carry. Instead, you’re immersed in daydreams drifting through the clouds, imaging about your final destination and safe landing, as everything else in the world below is just on hold, and waiting for you.
Yikum Shiferaw 7-26-23
Youthful years ebb away
like a morning mist.
Time is no one’s confidante,
whether you repel or doubtfully persist.
Scars are masked and hidden,
leaving marks that forge with pain.
Memories might bring you back,
string up the lights of a forgotten pain.
Your voice could be echoed,
and carried by a whistling wind.
But age is not a standalone statue
that shows your beginning or the end.
Youthful is a glimpse of fleeting hopes
as time quickly goes by.
Nightfall awaits on the edges
how fearfully you may cry.
You may dream of tomorrow
or a timeless eternity.
Yet, you’re given ticking seconds,
the only chance of certainty.
Memory a powerful force, evoking both nostalgic bliss or traumatic fires for those who remember the past. It possesses the ability to transport us back to places we left behind years ago, reconnecting us with the demons we flee from or the joyful heavens we long for.
When I was around 11 years old, I moved from a rural farming village on the outskirts of the city to the bustling urban landscape. Despite the relatively short distance of fifty miles between these places, they existed as separate worlds with distinct identities.
A few weeks after I arrived in the city, I began attending school.
The experience of learning my numbers and ABCs for the first time felt magical as if I were sitting on the wings of a dragon, soaring to the ends of the world. A fire ignited within me, and hope exploded in my mind. I couldn't quell my thirst for knowledge, constantly reading and thinking until the next day of school arrived. I would wake up before dawn, eager to go to school and feel a pang of sadness when it was time to return home. I yearned to spend all my time in the classroom, absorbing information and immersing myself in the school environment. My hunger for education was insatiable because back in the village where I grew up, there was no formal schooling. Our existence revolved solely around inheriting the traditions of farming. If it weren't for my grandmother, that would have been my destined path—a transition from one form of darkness to another.
The world we inhabited felt confined, like a tiny eggshell.
Raised by my grandparents, I formed a special bond with my grandmother. She was my favorite person, always delighted to have me by her side. She would narrate fairy tales to me, both soothing and spooky, and I cherished every one of them.
She often spoke of the worlds beyond our village, telling me, "One day, you will leave this forgotten place and venture into the city!"
Whenever she mentioned my departure, a smile would light up her face, as if she held the entirety of my future within her gaze. The thought of leaving her behind was daunting, but I listened intently to her words, yearning for the day when I could take flight on her wings and witness a different world.
"Are you sure I won't be here beside you?" I would inquire, tinged with both sadness and excitement.
"I am sure!" She would reply, her happiness undiminished. "You will leave this place, attend school, and forge a better life for yourself!"
Sometimes, I wonder what emotions filled her heart during those conversations. Was she as sorrowful as she was content to let me go? If she was, she never revealed it.
And so, one day, the dream transformed into a surreal reality that I struggled to comprehend. A feeling of excitement and fear combined as one, a butterfly feeling fluttered inside me.
Soon when the day arrived for me to leave, tears streamed down my face, knowing I wouldn't see my grandmother or hear her enchanting tales each night. It felt as though I were leaving behind a vital part of myself, for she was the only person I adored, and still do.
Now, as I sit here and look back, carried by nostalgia and walk on a memory lane, I keep wondering about that’s happened a long time ago and my heart is filled with laughter and loss as all seems a distant memory, yet still brewing inside my head.
She would say less each time we talked, moving a bit farther away from me in her body and mind, as the healing words disappear from her mind like morning fog. She was no longer the same angel I knew, the one piece of joy that kept me sane for so long. She was my guardian, my protector, until she was no longer. We were more than strangers or foes now. I was none existent in her eyes, which was worse than anything that happens to anybody.
Though repeatedly I tried to sew back what I reaped from its roots, from her pure and innocent heart, but nothing was working to sway her spirit. Looking deep into her saddened, hurtful eyes was painful when she stared at mine like a dessert coyote. Nothing seemed to take over her loathing of my despicable actions; a painful scar one can never understand or master.
I could only witness sadness and small tears rolling on her face, hidden behind the hurt and sorrow reflecting on her eyes. Her subtle response would say all she felt inside. Her message was crystal clear, I just couldn’t let it go.
I guess once something you dearly loved is ruined, there is no replacement for it. Even if you’d magically put it together, deep down you know it never be same again. It just wouldn’t!
I wish everything could be back to the way it was. But that would never happen unless she refuses my invitation to meet each time I called her—she never declined any of it. As for me, I don’t have the stomach to let her go and erase her out of my mind and life forever.
For now, I just have to wait in vein for the feelings to ebb away. Maybe then, we’re both be on the same pages.
No Way Out
I know from all the places to die, my life shouldn’t end in the alley, at least that’s my wish, a hopeless wish that doesn’t have a guaranteed return on investment.
This is my story.
I am an impulsive gambler in life, never thinking ahead first, or even using my head for once. I gambleed all I had on a card game. After I lost everything, I began borrowing money, small loans that mounted to bigger debts that I couldn’t afford to pay back.
I knew there was no end to this habit. But I kept going, deep into the belly of the beast, and never stopped to look back or manage to find a way out. Now, my neck under a sharp knife, my heart rapidly beating, and fingers trembling before they're cut off one by one, it’s too late to think about the solution. For I drained all the resources I ever had, including friends and family. I’m too deep, and have no way out this time around, just waiting for my fate in the dark alley.