The taste of memories

Fresh cool sour cream and red sweet strawberries mixed in a bowl, red and white, cold sweetness exploding in my mouth.

Rolled dough my mom just made, soft and puffy to the touch, I roll it into long pale snakes, raising a cloud of white dust. We cut them with the sharp knife, then throw into the boiling water. Rolled in sweet bread crumbs they turn, light brown and gold, sweet and tender.

Fried Hanukkah jam filled doughnuts; I carefully cut into circles with the edge of a glass.

 The flat dough patties sizzle and puff up throw an aroma blend of dough and frying oil.  Filled with red jam, hot and sweet, They split open in my mouth.

Memories of food like treasure boxes,

I pick the lids and out they erupt,

Red and white and golden brown

I can taste them in my mouth.

Fish on glass

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And in the middle of the night,

the window blew open wide,

with a loud bang.

On the stone floor; remnants of my fish,

 and glass still holding droplets of water.

I call for my grandmother; in the next room

 but there is no sound.

I back under the blanket,

In the warm, dark quiet, I find refuge.

In the morning, it is going to be alright.

But In the morning,

darkness all around and deep quiet.

 In the kitchen, my mother moving

without making a sound.

My grandmother is still not about.

Something happened at night,

with the broken jar,

and my fish swimming on glass.

A word I never heard before is now all

around, sharp as a piece of broken glass,

drawing blood.

 

Broken sound-track

The road is long and bent

The obstacles so plenty it hurts

But love conquers every hurdle

It will lighten up your burden

So keep your head up high

And your gait steady and quick

 Don't let the grass grow,

 Under your feet. 

Keep that always in your mind

When the day turns into night

Hold on to your friends real tight

And they will be there by your side.

If you do not want to miss out

Persistence is a sure route

Know what you truly desire

What you long for and aspire

Easy and fast does not make it

So don’t be baffled by the myth

Fix your mind on the target

Tone up your gait, remember

Good things come to those who wait

And every journey has its steps

Plan yours with thoroughness.

How would you know if you do not try

How will you learn if you do not pry

Opportunity hides behind every turn

So keep your eyes open and run

Life is about movement

Saying yes to all that scares you

Embracing every chance.

Worn-out record keeps on playing

Broken sound- track dull and expected

Forward, backwards or around

How to make sure I am not missing out

Will I ever stop long enough to look about

Always moving, pressing forward,

Tired, worn-out, dishearten, disillusioned.

 

Inside my head

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There is a woman, who lives in my head,
I hardly ever see her,
But her voice, vexing and grating,
Is rumbling in the hollows of my brains

She does not stop talking,
From morning till night,
The only way I can quiet her rattling
Is close my eyes, and take a nap.

She wants to know, why -
She interrogate me on, how -
She likes to discuss, when -
But she really get stuck on what if.

She insists that it is for my own good,
But we both know this is a lie.
She keeps bringing up" the truth,"
As if she was there at the time.

Her capricious moods keep me alert,
I cannot ever lay off my guard,
On the lookout day and night,
For her next ingenious camouflage

This woman who lives in my head,
The other day, I caught her glimpse,
In the bathrooms, behind the mirror
She looked unerringly like me.

 

“Life is a journey, not a destination.” ― R. Emerson

Long road

Photo by Jake Olson Studios Blair Nebraska on Getty Images

Every man has a road to travel, a journey only he can make. (Original Pin: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/493355334156082446)



He said, any road will get you there,

if you only walk long enough,

and his grin that lingered in the air,

stayed behind.

It doesn't matter which way you go,

if you don’t care much.

Then he fasten his smile back to his face,

And it went with the rest of his body,

I still wonder where.

The lure of the open road,

unrolled to where the earth meet the sky.

Unknown things waiting to happen,

 adventures that flow in my veins.

 My eyes teary with delight, almost forgotten,

 of a cold winter night, and a bedtime story.

But at the fork in the road I halt,

like Alice, I hesitate, I ponder,

I search for his smile, now gone.

When he said pick any road, was it

right, maybe left?

Do I much care where I go?

This I know,

the journey is getting harder and harder to cling on to.

And when the sun descends, and the day is gone,

the lights in the nearby house, and the warmth of the fire,

 in the woodstove,  is what I long for.