hukm*

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Acceptance is
when you stop asking why
why becomes a lifelong gift
when luck is not about you
rather about him
when your focus shifts
from flight or fight to fulfillment
when love is the moment
your eyes meet
not satiation of yearning
rather continuation of yielding
it is letting go and letting in
promising to pursue
despite the pain
acceptance is when
you begin to listen
to the music in dissonance
when you fight
through your days
with fervor of worship
subscribe to doubts
and encourage the voice
that rises from within
when immersion into clouds
brings a feverish outpour
of sweet rain drops
when death does not
create listlessness
instead it opens doors
to new lives and languages
where strength is
the very nucleus
of vulnerability
and not an antonym
acceptance is leveling
hukm is beautifully obvious
when
you are
His
hukm becomes yours

as much
as you
let go
and as deep
as you
echo yourself

in and from his hukm

*hukm – the divine will

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finding poems in bazaars

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Farmers markets

Formula shopping
taking a break
to touch, feel, talk
bountiful sights
encourage a break
stir up sensibilities

Farmers markets
baskets with strawberry
luscious and anticipative
the onion skins itself
on the cobbled walkway
pleasingly purple and crisp
fried potato’s lean into
the air,a concoction
of self-indulgent treats
pancake stalls make concessions
to pointless chatter, families
tugging at heart-strings
relishing the bubbling maple

Farmers markets

in tryst with life
clutching to the earth
yielding yet to it

ready to serve at the altar
of homes, fragrance, color, texture

to become stories

 

Garage sales
luck and love on shelves
discovery and dramatics
rehearsed negotiation
observation of flaws
each piece an attestation
to letting go, each selection
a proof of usefulness
things, offer an ever evolving
attachment paradigm

 

Garage sales

the baby crib was
not a need, after
the miscarriage
the picnic basket
rattled with laughter
from memorable trips
the painting packed
because their home
was on short sale
the jacket , a swag
from marathon events, monogrammed
before he took to
the wheelchair
the baking set served
kitchen tables with love
the brooch pinned fur collars
now sat next to a boxed watch
wondering if someone would pause
the golf clubs erect with pride
having served many practice holes
the silverware collection
still flawless as it reflected
curious finger marks
the wedding veil
carefully beaded with a fringe
a small tear, that corner
where the father of the bride
had clumsily stepped upon

Garage sales

treasures, tears and thoughts
fragile in hope
quivering in readiness
to move on

retrace steps, redesign lives
and offering themselves

to not be things

Twenty tournaments and yet..

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Twenty tournaments

Since that moment when you left us

with

the world beneath our feet
and its many broken parts
like crumpled sheafs of paper
fragrance in your closets
neither here nor there
scabs on our heart skins
rubbing hope into each other
instead, dripping voids

Trying to illuminate
Twenty tournaments

Counting twenty tournaments
Still bidding farewell

to our life
the queasy stomach
and shaky voice
narrative memory
in longing words
mystified, repetitive efforts

purposeful
our search for hope
well tried yet opaque
voices in prayer
and stoic silences, stunned
seemingly, collectively
in free fall

It has been a while

since the storm, yet
recovery ever in progress

Twenty tournaments

 

Will you answer?

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When does God make his plan for pairs?

Why do you let me dream unfettered?

Where did you learn your patience?

How can someone promise forever ever?

Which role do you relish the most?

What makes you want to talk to me?

 

When did you bring tenderness to your songs?

Why do I need you when I cry?

Where do you hide the sound of my laugh?

How do you stay sure at all times?

Which book translated you for you?

What anchors you in us?

 

When did you start to seek the beyond?

Why does the night stall in your arms?

Where did you abandon the ego?

How will you handover a legacy in diligence?

Which mantra enables your clarity?

What definition of duty will you author?

 

Will you always be the spring to my winter?

Will you discover me at the cusp of every life?

The (im)perfect journey

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They sat to break a breath, at that corner

His silver hair gleamed in a ponytail

She held herself steady at the waist

They leaned forward again, to speak in murmurs

 

He recalled footsteps that had been firmer

She clutched his arm as she stood in pain

Purposefully, nudging pebbles into a pattern

They sat to break a breath, at that corner

 

His accumulated medals adorned walls

He drew his life in trace lines on a map

Trembling scribbles of traveled lanes

His silver hair gleamed in a ponytail

 

Her character spoke through her distinct tastes

She wove the scent of flowers into her colorful throws

Beading baubles on laughter strings

She held herself steady at the waist

 

Their cherished story is of the party with drummers

They relish their tea as much as arguing over theories

The vastness and vigor that has been acquired together

They lean forward again, to speak in murmurs

 

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Shelling Peanuts

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We chase conversations,

Crunching bags of eager peanuts

You dust promises

into spaces between cracked shells

Together we jostle dreams

settling into scattered skin and chaff

Smiling in acknowledgment

Symbiotic glances, like peanut and salt

Bringing stories together

Nutty anecdotes coated in toasty flavors

Seeds break out of their comfort

Nostalgic taste punctuating sentences

Memories become escapades

Smacking salt off our fingers

Relishing a kernel routine

Collecting moments in papery skins

You stoke the fireplace

Empty the sack of  remnants

Crumbling husk settles cautiously

On book jackets and baskets of wool

Before we retreat into ourselves

A cheerful aroma lingers behind

 

 

tchotchke*

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revisiting tchotchke

gaudy colors and tacky textures

strung on tree branches, sitting on shelves

that magnet, the lanyard, those peg measures

toy story like, alive in dreams and adventures

crowding dresser table tops,pinned on scruffy coat lapels

whispering in hesitant shapes, stories and verses

finding tchotchke

a book stand spills over, hiding predictably, in the corner store

repeated shapes, swag statements, in sterile trade fair tents

rows of bling, functional snine, in online carts

logo on a badge, randomness in gifts, editions galore

pretending mutual admiration, promoting collective pretense

aspiring to stockpile connections, that are scrambling and sparse

synthesizing tchotchke

memorabilia, from visits and vistations

finger print stains that glare, nostalgic festivities and cake spills

unwrapping butter paper, conversations on fireplace mantels

mass produced wobbles, incredible yet imitations

catering to inane corporations, employee affiliation at will

redefining tchotchke

mocking each other, emoji like, tentative trinkets

nudge for space, tweet like, on the study ledge

hide in drawers, snapchat like, dead space nuggets

today

at the bazaar, i shop souvenirs

isolation burnout, emotions at risk

i look for and at, faces not shelves

i strain to hear, voices not bells

i engage in kind words, catalogued as exhibits

i try to fortify connections, rehearsing their pledge

simply tchotchke

the world over, worldly wise, treasures

like rehearsed memories

my tchotchke stood their space, anticipating my free fall

glittering remanants, that slip and stall

as I drift into the mundane and grime

of my daily abyss

enshrined tchotchke

i start to bag, as debris

then,

stop and surrender, and see

years, tears and smiles

symbols of traveled miles

in blushing souvenors – you may mock

 but I will flaunt, again, my daunting collection of tchotchke

*an inexpensive showy trinket(Yiddish)