A Monologue to My Soul

If I cannot dispose of my sins, let me drown in them;
I’m so sick of hanging, in between, by this flimsy thread,
since that morning hour when the voice of my conscience was born!

The end is nigh, from the flexure of my sun I can tell,
how I wish that I had the strength to let it go and fall
but a silhouette of salvation, a vain hope, keeps me drained!

When the night falls, wrapped in the misty haze, should I be sad?

Life that has come to earth must, in due time, depart as well
and report back to the universe, where nothing, so far
since the beginning of time, save mere forms, has ever changed.

So even in the darkness of the night, I shall remain
in a different form, in your remembrance and your dreams
or as a barren mound of earth perhaps, all forgotten…

If I cannot dispose of my sins, let me drown in them!

The Green on My Canvas of Life

I remember the green on my canvas of life,
in glowing abundance, tinged with darker shades
of matte brown and divine blue of the Pacific,
one for earthly desire and the other for fancy dreams.

I remember the joy of painting life back then,
the sheer delight of coloring my future days,
with all the mellow sweetness and regal grandeur
that my greatest sparkle of imagination might conjure.

With time, the great crusher of any vividness,
that delight has flown away to some unknown place,
locked inside the unimpregnated world of my past
and it is more from necessity than for joy, of late.

From my canvas of life the green too, in sad proportion,
to linger in the world of remembrance, is almost gone.