Posted on by Ruisi

Our Butterfly

Disclaimer: This poem is my original content that I have additionally published through UCSD’s Other People Literary Magazine.

Were it by chance when stars had cross’d unseen
Our paths now joined perchance made course a-part
We playwrights, though, set up our present scene
from impulse down and up to pair-link’d heart.
Spoke first time we when shared event had hapt 
Had I stayed hour less, or you come in hour late
Had we spoke not of that which keeps us rapt
My appetite may’ve ne’er known your gift to sate.
No tears have I cried since meeting you
and all I’ve the need to give is my laughter
Our moments joint painted peerless hue 
Born of friendship’s bosom all thereafter.
T’was our gossamer wings bringing us high
Praise our choices made as our butterfly.

With you your compass, me my trusty sailboat
A pair from birth, the day we set adrift
But we had a row and now here we take note
the scarlet wings of fear we feel inside ocean’s rift.
You are the one who reads for us meant direction
I am the one who listens silent at shared helm 
You accuse me, for fault of my failed navigation 
As I respond, that instruction is your realm.
But you’d seen east and angry, said west
I had heard west but spiteful, turned east
We know but our choices keep us at rest
and we face not treasure but tragic beast. 
If only we could blame this on a fate worst
But ‘twas our butterfly that left us curs’d.

Posted on by Ruisi

Voice

Your voice, signature of person as it exists,
lives to be found in the stories you tell.
It lurks behind the words you speak,
between the gaps in your breath
and within the way in which you punctuate your text.
But–it also is in every part of your gestures, your laughs
expressions the voice to which others bear visual witness.
Oh, how does your face alight when your loved ones call you?
and how does your laughter ring out when you hear a joker’s tale?
Your joy distinct, and your sorrow unique
A footprint of its very own,
caught in the strides of your name and self
and that voice, that individual, irreplaceable voice
lives to be found in the stories told about you.

Posted on by Ruisi

Self-Chosen

Disclaimer: This poem is my original content that I have additionally published through UCSD's Other People Literary Magazine. 
----

A fortnight ago,
          when the wind blew gray and nigh
he left his doors to enter
through the sullen quiet of the forbidden moor
in search of something he could call more his own
          a quest, a journey, love or adventure’s sake
his destination along the horizon.
Beside him existed neither roaring seas
          nor sublime cliffs
No trials almighty to be vanquished by heroes
But there is nothing quite like the open sight
of lilac heather amidst sage brush; still, 
he looked, and turned, and averted his eyes
His gaze affixed to the line of light 
          breaking ahead of him.

At a fortunate intersection of brook and path
was he met by a lady of comely dress
Said she, 
with a gesture to a pair of weeping willows, and a nod 
          to her lawn manicured with the riches of a thousand men,
—Welcome to my grounds, do join me inside, 
          I’ll put on a kettle of tea and bring out my good honey
           I’ve not much company, you see.
          I’ve waited so long for someone to talk to
                    Won’t you sit down with me?—
but our fellow laughed and 
denied her with neither a glance o’er her valued domain
          nor o’er her tender smile and eyes.
You’ve not what I desire, said he
          I’ve no time for distraction.
Then farewell and continue on, she said,
and looked the other way
as he returned to his path in the weeds.

After some days, and nights, and afternoons too,
he wandered into an assemblage of persons, all ages
Said they,
with gestures to a flourishing table of hearty laughter, and nods
          to the greenest pasture in the land, 
—Please join our feast, celebrate with us a strong harvest
          we’ve meat from our animals and wine from our grapes.
          and you need not starve a day with our bounty of crops.
          Come, take a look around,
                    we’d be delighted to show you the grounds—
but our man smiled small and
rejected them with neither a look o’er their precious gardens
          nor o’er their glorious fruits and blossoms.
Your food and drink are not what I pursue, said he
          I’ve no time for distraction.
Then farewell and continue on, they said,
and turned their backs on him as he fell back into step
in pursuit of his ever-chased light.

Rolling hills, scarlet birdsong, jeweled dew
Dandelions nodding their heads 
All to the side of his path
And a small mouse, scurrying by, invisible
Accidental companion to the one forging 
          his way through the landscape
 Asked another—
           for what does he abandon such opportunity?
           for what does he ignore such chance?—
The winds echoed his inquiry
          as did the persons left behind 
          silently, in the depths of their minds
But our fellow’s sight remained steady.
And he walked,
          and walked, and walked
                    and found nothing as the grasses passed him by
Satisfaction he sought
and for the welcoming calls he cared naught
A lonely journey, self-chosen
And the moor, well.
She said good riddance.

Posted on by Ruisi

En El Abismo

En el abismo del cielo morado
        donde estás viviendo sin aire
levantas las manos sobre las estrellas
        y permite que el fuego ilumine su alma.
Un pincel divino, con las acuarelas del viento--
pinta un horizonte infinito para los ojos ciegos
           un horizonte de hierba dorada y rosas plateadas
En el silencio tú oyes la campanada
en la inquietud tuya sigues el río angosto
        por el bosque en que los pájaros
        musitan de una existencia gris
en una lengua que tú ya no puedes comprender
tan retorcido como los vides de pena
El río es de las lágrimas de angustia
        y su agua está amarga
        y un poco -solamente un poco- salada.
Un día de estos realizarás tú
que la senda que estás caminando
        no tiene un destino real
Pero todavía necesitas la mirada fijada
en el sol que sólo se alza durante la noche.
Posted on by Ruisi

Chasing the Sun

            We 
        started 
     late in trying 
to catch the pastel break of sunset
                                   But the road winds around, 
                               curving past the slopes and peaks of the hills
                   so that the light comes from behind, 
         from the right, from the left
    And when night falls 
   we are abandoned in the dusk
      smiles and eyes alight
          Alone on this endless journey
                chasing the sun.

Dedicated to my dear friend Cassidy.

Posted on by Ruisi

Indents

Cross over the shallow running water
to where skyline meets buried rootstock
Jagged rocks peek past overgrown reeds
and the brushstrokes of rosy flutter plastered
with invisible droplets meld into ticking clockwork.
Indents in the wood worn over time remain
a Game played by Children and Adults alike.
Posted on by Ruisi

Chaos

Amidst the white glare of the stars
you reach out your hands and feel only
     the flames scorching your fingers.
Blind, you remain; yet you are the one to see
     [the plagued skin of the defiant]
Deaf, you remain; yet you are the last to hear
     [the warning screams of the fallen].

From whence the crying comes you consider not
     because whilst the noises and voices conflate
into a disembodied greyscale hum, untranslatable-
a labyrinth of intangible faces to one’s sanity bate-
you stay mute by throwing down all reason
     so that they may skitter away to beleaguer
     the crackēd bones of those already desolate.
Repulsed by the taste of your own venom
its pungent acridity pervading every bud
you spit on the entrails toss’d safe astray
     and rely on the imprints in the dirt for guidance
but the ground before you crumbles away
     and you find yourself lost without ever taking a step.

Seeing still all visages through the smoke of the pyre
wondering why their masks are dripping at the edges-
Weep; glass tears scrape at the film clouding your eyes
     -and fear- then, if you are finally seeing clear
for all you shall discover when the sun doth rise
when the shade departs and the weak-hearted cower
be the pyrrhic ravages o’ crimson ash mix’d with burnt souls-
     all the carnage of Armageddon a simple hand-mirror.
Posted on by Ruisi

Warrant of Cowardice

Heaven doth make gain from anxious sorrow, it seems;
Her richest wine mixed, laced almond, embittered
The blood within our veins is red, I’ve heard-- and so it is
     but red was not the color I saw in embrace
nor was vermilion a blush of verisimilitude.

Wellaway!-- what trepidation there is in calm,
whilst its ending leaves no flaxen hair harrowed.
They say children are naive, that we know naught
     yet we imps see the most clearly; in the face
of learning, of trusting, of loving, absent motive
Thus is our affection given most devoid restraint
but the most difficult to admit, because
the recipients are so capricious in heart
     precise; just as they say children are.

No resistance have I felt quite similar to my own
Every instance, spent as though I, alone
     were stood on the lines in wait of the train
with my dependence on the address of a single word
such that even silent denouement sat becoming.
Had you or I any affectation of courage starry
perhaps we needn’t have been witnesses of court
as the light of the hearth died to grey ash and red coals
     companied by whisper of farewell before that of greeting.
Your eyes are naught but gold, white gold
and I know that you no longer see me with them;
Still may I ease, for no longer did the fault rest with me:
At length did I tell you I loved you; but alas,
the Clock had already struck three thirty
     and you, you never said it back.
Posted on by Ruisi

Music By Burnt Ears She Cried

Music by burnt ears she cried
Had I not the wherewithal to desist
     thus I followed; oh, I followed
     her song into the hallway, and the
     silhouettes on the walls, they danced
     to the echo of my footsteps against the stone
and sang the whispers of the torches’ flames.

Adieu—said I to my departing companions
     as I sank into the steps, foot by foot
The notes, delicate as they, twisted in the air
so generously and allowed me to lean upon them
for support as I climbed
      and climbed
           and climbed. Such enchantment!—

Into a grand hall was I led, with diamonds hanging
     and candles flickering, in circles, in circles
but the other beauties in the room were dead
their heads wasted away from thirst and age
with their petals mourning below the tombs

I saw her at the piano, its polished sheen alight
and received quite a fright when her countenance
     became and arrived before my eyes
for she was young and she was old at the same
whilst the weariness in her breath never changed.
Her hands were pale and frail
yet her fingers retained their gay diligence
     and jumped and jumped from key to key

I was delirious; and implored to her
Please—I’ve been caught—mightn’t you stop
the music now?
A laugh!—from myself or from her, or from whoever
then; Forgive me—said she,
her face turned away—I wish I could
     and continued thereon her eternal song.

So I sat, in the arms of her serenade
when a three count rest provided me the chance
to ask why could not she pause—
She proclaimed her certainty in stance
that if she stopped, as would everything else
Her life was the song she played
      the song she played was her life
so how could she allow herself the cessation?

The diamonds hung and the candles flickered
Spoke I, and wondered why she found it to be sure—
“A feeling?
An omen? Sense?”
Oh, she simply knew, from
the tumbling she felt within her stomach
     and the lump in her throat
It made it hard to breathe, she said

My pity clouded my sensibility as I felt—
but when I asked her name, and she remembered not
     the fog dispersed from thought.
“Then why continue?” I cried,
“If you have not even an identity, a life!”
And I leapt from my seat in the audience
And I pried her fingers away, away from her canvas.

The diamonds hung
the candles flickered
and a subtle silence cloaked the realization
until replaced by her lamentations of an existence forgone.
Posted on by Ruisi

Lullaby For My Dove

Of all surrounding thicket thy choice o’ lonesome dwelling
amongst chimney’s red bricks once felled and left; a tall Room, dark—
where light has lost potency to scatter, and you now Wild,
beating with fractured wing, claws curled, firm against heaving breast
Be pardoned now, in somnolence blest
as I fashion this vacant cage for nest.
A dove’s lily-white down is Its signature, voiceless song
feathers alight yet beyond metal bars makes but debris
The drapes are drawn, senses drown, and silence holds that there be
naught save the creaks from your sullen throat; O Hush, so kindly—
I’ll compose a lullaby most sweet
So stifle noisy grievance for my amity.
And I sing and I sing and you quiet, with the rhythmic drumming
o' the generous rain who feeds so endlessly the white lilies upon the sill
Diamond chandeliers drape o'er musty air and the scent o' chamomile makes easy way
whilst sun rays remain at bay— Our home is shadowed; the dust sleeps unseen.
Now three weeks shared, I see you’ve healed, Delightful, we ought celebrate your
security sealed; Our window is open, and your head bobs, eager, at it
Look, today’s blossoms have blushing faces, limp, wet, but they've not tears
Lay in my lap — perch against my neck — accompany me one last sit
Ah, a draft— warm zephyr that kisses bitter, chills the lips
and ruffles that ivory cape as were a sigh. Do you still long for Out?
then you haven't been In long enough.
—O, ‘tis a shame, love, I’ve plucked out a blood feather, how
Colorful the crimson is against thy white! You’ve stained my hands.
Do forgive these nervous fingers — ‘twas an accident,
this anxiety; but Foresight, I praise thee, I’ve bandages a-handy
and our Lullaby, three past weeks and forevermore, leave not me lonely
Worry not my dearest, you needn’t fly away in such state
I’ll make you beautiful again, so stay a week longer, my dove, won’t you?