Sunday, February 27, 2011

Oranges - by Gary Soto



The first time I walked
With a girl, I was twelve,
Cold, and weighted down
With two oranges in my jacket.
December. Frost cracking
Beneath my steps, my breath
Before me, then gone, 
As I walked toward
Her house, the one whose 
Porch light burned yellow
Night and day, in any weather.
A dog barked at me, until
She came out pulling 
At her gloves, face bright
With rouge. I smiled,
Touched her shoulder, and led 
Her down the street, across
A used car lot and a line 
Of newly planted trees,
Until we were breathing
Before a drugstore. We
Entered, the tiny bell
Bringing a saleslady
Down a narrow aisle of goods.
I turned to the candies
Tiered like bleachers,
And asked what she wanted–
Light in her eyes, a smile
Starting at the corners
Of her mouth. I fingered
A nickel in my pocket,
And when she lifted a chocolate
That cost a dime,
I didn’t say anything.
I took the nickel from 
My pocket, then an orange,
And set them quickly on 
The counter. When I looked up,
The lady’s eyes met mine, 
And held them, knowing 
Very well what it was all 
About.
Outside,
A few cars hissing past,
Fog hanging like old
Coats between the trees.
I took my girl’s hand
In mine for two blocks,
Then released it to let
Her unwrap the chocolate.
I peeled my orange
That was so bright against
The gray of December
That, from some distance,
Someone might have thought
I was making a fire in my hands.

-Gary Soto


The painful beauty of empathy...

Sunday, February 13, 2011

As Dreamers do


Snow no more, it will soon.

Someone will walk, drag their weary body yet
From a mid-May springtime, to a scorching June
Where the blundering, mystifying, greening rains
Light up hearts with a thousand colors –
In a land where it snows not.

Come February, and fist-sized Sambal
Shall paint the dried up, mist-borne landscape –
A flaming rouge…
Someone will pause, pause amidst the splendor
And smile for snowflakes
Those tiny memoirs of a cold cold warmth.

Dreamers shall weave newer dreams yet,
With their novel amalgamated palette –
Blending the light of longed-for sun-rays
Into the magical romance of soul-drenching rains.
Sun and rain –
Rainbows, myriads of splinters of color
Shall burst forth from a frail presence.

Someone will have the leisure,
The leisure and the heart –
To twirl a thought in their fingers
Just long enough
To paint a canvas yet.

More verses shall be written yet.

Feb 13th, 2011.



Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Buffalo's Skyline from my Window

So what are the things buffalonians could spot?





1.St. Ann's Church 
2. St. Stanislaus Bishop & Martyr Church
3. The not-yet-risen Sun
4. Clouds - the weavers of magic
5. Countless windmills in the land far far away...


Hmmm... will have to inquire for more :)

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

There was a time... We were beautiful

Beautifully magical poetry (by Ahmed Shameem) sung by one of the loveliest of voices (Nayyara Noor):

Once... We were beautiful


Here follows an effort at translation that cannot do justice, but the colors seem to shine through even in a different language.

Note: "Us" and "We" are sometimes used in urdu as slightly impersonal substitutes for "Me" and "I". In this poem they seem kindof an effort to divert attention and sound less narcisstic, thought the use can have many meanings depending on context.


Once... We were beautiful

There was a time... We were beautiful
There was a time... We were beautiful

Like the lasting scent settled in oft-read books
Our breaths were hushed.
With the palette of a myriad unsaid words,
We used to paint murals.
On the wings of warblers, we'd carve poems
And sing them... to nestlers on far-off lakes...
Who lived far far from us...
yet were so near our hearts...

When labors of another day
Alighted in our garden, with the light of dawn
We used to say:
"Mama! these butterflies have such pretty wings".
Oh dear, kiss us...
Kiss us on the forehead
For we long to soar to the lands of
Butterflies,
Fireflies...
For rainbow fireflies,
Butterflies of light... beckon us thither...

Labors of another day mingle
With gentle breeze drenched in color
And beckon us through the window...
Oh dear, kiss us...
Kiss us on the forehead
Kiss us on the forehead...