The Missed Moment

As I look back, taking stock of each moment

Linked one to the next, to form a chain called Time

A sack we choose to fill with baubles and beads

Like children, we forage the woods of life

Gather tiny stones, believing them to be precious

Call them memories, souvenirs

Collected while travelling, from birth to death.


One such pebble, I have often tried to throw

Again and again into the river of Time flowing ahead

Somehow the pebble finds its way back into my heart

And nestles among the tiny rocks in my sack

This time I take a closer look

At the tiny pebble which refuses to leave

I see a face, your face lit up with love

Love for this little bud that I was

Love so powerful, to awaken the woman in me

Slowly I transformed into the passionate rose.


For days I waited, for the honeyed kiss

The dewdrops from your lips

I longed for them to be planted on my petals

I shook and I shivered

When the winds of your love

Swept me off my stem, my roots.

Alas, it never came, the kiss

Which would have made my fragrance sweeter

Which would have made my petals

A deeper, richer crimson

The kiss intoxicating everything around me

It never came, I blame my own thorns.


The pebble comes back, will never sink

Into the profound deep of Time river

It comes back, not choosing to become oblivion

But rather a reminder of sweet moments

Of lips quivering with passion and desire

Of the innocent first kiss, that never came to be……


Copyright ©2019angelbeamsblog

Painting by Michael Cranford Beach stones in shape of heart, Fine art america

Tales of woe of the Crescent Moon

Crescent moon

The earth laid out the new carpet she had woven

Beckoning me to seat myself on the silky grass

Cool and soft, freshly scented

Caressing my tired limbs, tickling my aching feet.

The firefly with her tiny torch flame

Signaled to me that somebody special

Waited for me behind the palm fronds

Patiently, since twilight, like a love-lorn lover.

Just then a slice of the milky moon

Wedged between the great palm leaves

Peeped out shyly, with her beaming smile

Not sure if I would care enough to notice her.

Wonder-struck at her simple elegance

I gazed, at the sharp tilted edges of her lips

Mesmerized I asked her why she always preferred obscurity

When she should be dancing across the sky.

“Well it’s my full-bodied sister who gets the lime-light

When she makes her appearance, everyone goes wide-eyed

Queen of the skies, she wins over every heart

Poets rave about her brimming beauty

Lovers get drunk as she pours out her glow

When she arises majestically from the horizon

She can cast a spell and weave magic the whole night

Me, I am just her poor homely sibling

With not even half her talent and beauty.”

I suddenly became aware of my own short-comings

For never acknowledging this simple, modest child

Who timidly tries to shine nevertheless

Sending across her pale moonbeams

As far possible as her frail body can.

“You’re a poet, I wondered if…..” she hesitated

“I wondered if you could put in a word for me.”

A feeling of shame crept up on me

How many crescent moons do we ignore?

A society applauding rich megalomaniacs

Where simplicity and authenticity get side-lined

I vowed I would attend to the lesser ones

Who too crave for a kind loving word

Who would thrive and shine in their own light

Given a place and a space to nourish their art.

Copyright ©angelbeams2018

Picture courtesy Pinterest