Why is the world at peace.
This may astonish you a little but when you realise how
easily Mrs. Charles Bianco sells the work of American
painters to American millionaires you will recognize that
authorities are constrained to be relieved. Let me tell you a
story. A painter loved a woman. A musician did not sing.
A South African loved books. An American was a woman
and needed help. Are Americans the same as incubators.
But this is the rest of the story. He became an authority.
I had better be.
What benefits my mother, niece,
Daughter and the neighbor lady
Will also benefit me.
Her working conditions,
How much she earns,
Her crisis, her problems,
Are all my concerns.
Her children are my children,
Her yearnings are mine.
......
The sea took pity: it interposed with doom:
‘I have tall daughters dear that heed my hand:
Let Winter wed one, sow them in her womb,
And she shall child them on the New-world strand.’
. . . . . . . .
QUEEN GULNAAR sat on her ivory bed,
Around her countless treasures were spread;
Her chamber walls were richly inlaid
With agate, porphory, onyx and jade;
The tissues that veiled her delicate breast,
Glowed with the hues of a lapwing's crest;
But still she gazed in her mirror and sighed
......
Every day so lovely, shining,
up and down, the Sultan’s daughter
walked at evening by the water,
where the white fountain splashes.
Every day the young slave stood
by the water, in the evening,
where the white fountain splashes,
each day growing pale and paler.
......
you will be conscious of an absence , precisely
like a flower that blooms during autumn
a flower which perishes , soil even rotten
near the family home’s porch
a tree — cypress tree bordering a lakeside — with
its branches thinning ; and a cloudless sky cuddling
such tempestuous weather
it is all within illusion , an utter lack of attention
to make pancakes with butter and strawberry shake
standing alone in the middle of my mother’s green-tiled kitchen
......
Gratitude knots in my throat.
I am surrounded by the bounty of her sacrifices, yet I let it slip through my fingers.
My heart aches with the weight of her expectations, each one a burden I fail to shoulder.
I am the idle child in the garden of plenty, the squanderer of every gift bestowed upon me.
It's a September morning
Everything inside me is breaking
Everything seems okay yet I am not fine
Can't control this mind of mine
It's easy for you to point at my defect
But I already know I am not perfect
No matter how much I do
It's never enough for you
I wanna do more just so you'll be happy
But they are not cooperating, my mind and body
......
Peaches heated by my sun
A dress so simple and so cotton
Would that child ever come
Back home
Where she is forgotten
Would the wind caress the ankles
Like it did so many times before
Would that land eventually remember
That her daughter is left outdoors?
......
She walks with grace and elegance,
Her every step a dance of joy,
A woman of strength and resilience,
Her spirit free, her heart pure as gold.
Her eyes are deep pools of mystery,
Reflecting the depths of her soul,
Her smile a ray of warm sunshine,
That lights up even the darkest of days.
......