Simple Joys

Inhaling the ocean breeze of Lima, on a hot summer day, I stand atop a mountain to view the expanse of green. It seems infinite, as far as the eye can see.
I inhale deeply, an Infusion of undiluted joy. I feel alive, and grateful for this day.

The ocean breeze, carries with it memories of fishermen, who make their living at sea. Sometimes they’ve risked their lives in this ruthless sea. The sea, beautiful to behold and feel and taste, and to wade in. Yet, as beautiful and generous as she is, she is capricious and temperamental –and deadly.

It also whispers memories of my childhood, so careless and free. There is a different tempo here, a different beat. A smile is always ready, and a kiss. Life is savored delicately, sipped leisurely.

I have not eaten in three days. Today I feel famished, hungry for good food - hungry for life! I must choose carefully what I consume. I want to sink into the pleasure of a flavor forgotten for too long.

It’s life’s little unexpected pleasures, which weave a tapestry of fond memories.

Ecoutez

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One can find beauty in the most unusual of places
In the bowels of the earth a lone man plays his instrument
Throngs of people pass in a rush, as the seconds dissipate
I am compelled to stop and listen to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata...
Echoing in the hollow tunnels of the metro de place-des-arts.

The beauty of this piece demands one stop and listen
A long winding road has brought us to face this moment;
For man is to a great extent the architect of his life.
The decisions we've made or not, brings us to this place.
I am thankful to be a participant, even if I am an audience of one.



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Flakes

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I drifted in into a dream, and back to reality
yet, it was surreal; I could not distinguish its veracity
Seated on a comfortable chair of Le Musee d'art contemporain de Montreal
I follow the film of Iceland folklore and drift into sleep.

An American man in a cafe this morning, asked out loud,
"Why doesn't anyone smile around here?"
I too had wondered this, as I quietly observed
It must have something to do with the Arctic winds
which generate a cold so deep, that it crystallizes water

Like the flakes which rest upon my lashes
and melt with the warmth of my lips
This cold which seeps into the bone
And whips the flesh into submission, leaves
routes and tracks deeply embedded on the face

It must be the cold which causes lack of merry
except for the little children with rosy cheeks...
and eyes agleam. They so look forward to Santa's visit
As their parents look with dismay at their dwindling purse.
Perhaps they too wish Santa would materialize.

Sleep threatens to overtake me, how can this be
the museum of contemporary art sets up pieces
which any five year old can paint?
The warmth lures me to close my eyes and dream
I dream I am part of the folklore tale, which draws me in.

Unmoved

I woke up with a start in the middle of the night, and I could not reconcile with sleep. My mind went back to something a coworker said about our strategy, “We are doing our best.” She had said. I replied to her that doing “our best,” was not good enough.The effort exerted would differentiate between mediocrity, and excellence.

Then I realized that what she meant is very common these days. A few weeks ago I had seen a photography and art exhibit. The photographs were of nude women, and I stood there and wondered, why they contained no emotion in their faces. None at all, yet in their corporal language, they seemed shy and too modest to expose their pubic mound.

Why do a nude then? As I scrutinized the poses some of these women chose, I did not perceive joy or sensuality oozing from every pore. Which would seem palpable in a nude frame? Why not emulate the sensuality of Marilyn in the picture depicted above? And ask her to smile as she would to her lover, hovering above?

That joyful delight in the meeting of bodies and minds, on the edge of a bed is present in her smile, differentiates between a mannequin and a woman who in the prelude of ecstasy. Perhaps too, why not a picture of a woman in the throes of an orgasm? Perhaps three close shots during, and post glow, captured in film.

Or the use of a background mirror, on a door, opened halfway which reflects her back as well as frontal nudity? Or lying on her side with a guitar in front, simulating her valleys and curves? Or on the dunes of the desert sand, where the border of flesh and sand lose beginning and end, and create a hillsides of undulating curves, framed by an animated face.

I think too, a picture of a naked woman in a slaughter house, with sides of beef and carcasses of pork hang on metal hooks – dripping blood. The flesh which is sacrificed to nourish that body which also leeks blood. As rivulets of menstrual flow decorate down her limbs to blend with the animal’s blood. Aren’t we all beasts on some level?

As for nude males, one of a man inside a hamster’s wheel, would chronicle the effort to get out of the self-imposed cage, which is considered the norm by today’s standards. And if you photograph a loving couple chained to each other, not in the act of S & M play, but rather in the shackles of a vow and a signed marriage contract.

And if one photographs a group of people in a train or bus, there should be a woman stand oblivious to the fact that a man is mentally masturbating, while he strips away from her every single article of clothing -- minus her shoes and purse perhaps.
Come on, it’s only a job, but why not raise the level? Smile, cry, cum, rage, seduce, shock, but show some shred of humanity for the love of art.




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Witness to Love

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Witness to love


Who is this old man hooked to a respirator?
How could he elicit passion? Or make a woman dazed
With ecstasy? I shyly introduced myself, and sat to observe
I witnessed love in its most heroic form manifest
My friend, lot younger than him, tended to his care with tenderness. She too has aged, perhaps in solidarity of his travails

Surely in his eyes there is a sign of the man she fell in love with?
Before the ravages of illness sucked his vital energy, a debilitated
Puppet; a child in diapers; a decimated version of his former self?
Grasping desperately with each forced breath, for yet another day
I wanted to cry, for in the midst of this heinous spectacle, love
Shined in her eyes. Love, fear, and tremendous fatigue

Yes, there is a keen intellect in his eyes. What did he feel internally? I saw a glimpse of shame for the spectacle he became…
And the burden as well. I put aside my unease and instead
Placed my hand on his bony back. Willing to infuse him with
Optimism and strength, urging him to take one more breath,
Assuring him that all would be well in the end

With tenderness I grasped his left hand in both of mine
It was cold, and I grabbed on to inject some warmth
Thus so we both prayed for his speedy recovery
I think it worked, for he’s been taken out of ICU yesterday
Some sneer at love and prayer, as if these were for the birds
Would they dare to contemplate what would sustain them in similar events?






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Never Too Late?

Never Too Late?



If I could turn back time, would I be who I am today?
Would I have avoided certain people and events?
Would I have taken a different route, aided by hindsight?
Surely, I would have. Yet this time, I would retain the joy
Of my childhood, and I would have dared a lot more
Perhaps I’d still trip and fall, but I’d have less regrets to store

If I could go back in time, I would appreciate you so much more
I’d be so thankful, and I’d say more Luv you’s, just because
I’d appreciate you with the same intensity I have for life
I’d be a bit more forgiving and tolerant over all -- of others’
Shortcomings, as well as of my own. I would not have
Inflicted pain, on those who loved me the most

I have come to realize, I don’t have to win all arguments
Silence can be golden, and prudence is priceless
I get a whiff of a chill in the air, heralding autumn’s arrival
Briefer days, colder nights, falling leaves, and howling winds
How swift times flies. The holidays are full of festivities…
And deeper sorrows when memories alight

If I could turn back time, I’d disperse kisses instead of frowns
They’d be no wasted time, and I’d see you in a different light
I would not bottle deep inside, my feelings tight. I would open
The bottle cap, and let the scent of love and joy permeate each room, and I’d show you just how much I care for you. Yet, it’s much too late…for you are gone. Oh, I forgot to say this…



I love you!







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Guiding Light

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There are people who briefly touch our lives
Yet, leave and undeniable imprint in our hearts
Last time I saw her, I saw the shadow of death close at hand
Her vital energy was flickering, and in its stead...
An ethereal beauty lit her smile
She awakened such a deep love for her; I embraced her
Tenderly, as if she were made of porcelain, when we said goodbye

She was a leader; a rebel who sought for herself answers
She vehemently proclaimed, that the more she delved into
Other doctrines and studies, the more this solidified her beliefs
She was a champion for women’s causes, and refused to be rated
Secondary for her gender in this life
The veils of ignorance need to be uncovered, for us to understand
She was a monument of strength, and architect who left things half way

I hiked to the peak of a mountain, on the second day she'd passed away. I was not aware of that fact, as the full moon held me mesmerized. The trees and leaves whispered restlessly that evening, yet I could not understand
I only knew I was deeply melancholy, and I softly wept, shielded by the night
There are people who briefly touch our lives, yet, leave an undeniable imprint in our hearts. I was blessed to have known her, as she directed my path



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