What catches your eye

By RRSuperNova

* It was a hard time when I made this poem. I guess we always look for miracles when life seems threatened; so we search for our closest means of faith that embodies our family dogma. Yet we forget that we are the ones doing this to nature, so there is no need of miracles, just a need of consciousness and action…

The sky is baby blue
There are twinkling lights in the night
As if they were counting
Seconds in our lives.

Flowers smell of love
Rose’s petals so soft
As delicate as is
Gives us hope
What a sight!

Kids play in the wild
As if it were part of their homes
Drip drops falling from above
The rainy season arrives
Giving us water
To wash our souls.

There’s pollution in the air
Calamities are astray
As if they were counting
Seconds in our lives.

Manufacturers smell of green
They also drain their bane
Water-like looks so soft
As delicate as is
Dear Lord! Cancer!
What a sight!

We have stayed in our homes for a while
Confined by this covid-19
Drip drops are falling through our skin
“End of times” dogma arrives
Scaring us, warning us
To wash our souls.

Metamorphosis

By RRSuperNova

** This was first published in the 7th volume of The Chachalaca Review

I am the mermaid
That sings her notes
Calling who ever approaches
Enchanting their minds
With imagination
Beyond their sight.

I am that astronaut
That reaches the stars
That breaks them apart
Forming the powder
Of magic itself.

I’m the wizard
That wonders in fantasyland
That comes out of books
And enchants this land.

I am that shape shifter
That hurts all around
That’s beyond comprehension
That’s learning her transformation
And runs towards a new destination.

Yes, I am that princess in distress
That waits for her prince
The savior of her dreams.

I’m also that introvert
That breaks from her binds
That has a strong sense of justice
Elixir for her great powers
To help the people around.

Yes, I am that writer
That once wanted to become
An infinity of possibilities
Yet her calling is this.

From immature beliefs
That now have become
Written words as it seems.
Like that butterfly
That has just come out of her cocoon
Barely opening her wings
Engaging into this wonderful world.

I morph into my protagonist
Although I suffer her losses
I also enjoy her road of achievements.
However, I’m also a villain
That’s a Machiavellian
And enjoys her sadistic approach
Killing all that comes in her way.

Yes, I finally put it into words
A storyteller in the making
I’m a writer
That morphs
Into this world of possibilities.

This little doll

By RR SuperNova

A broken doll
I have at my home
It’s quite old
Yet precious
Unique and bold.

She looks fine
When given a glance.
Her eyes have become unique
Compared to today’s
Doll features at the mall.

One can tell
Her faint smile has passed
Through decades of soaked experiences
As well as bright sunny days.

She seems rough to the touch
Yet she’s soft and fragile
Like any other doll.

There is only one thing
That stings this poor doll
A broken record inside her soul.
She’s not able to express herself.
Only broken words come out as her sound.

I’ve thought of replacing her device
But then again
That would change
Her all.

You see
She’s got the loveliest
Of songs
Unique to her all.

So I’ve decided
To pull out that old rusty disc
Polish it
Fix some of the bumps
And also replace
Some of the broken strings.

It’s a big hassle
But it’s well worth it.
To give some love
To that
Which has been forgotten.

After finishing
Putting everything in place
I wound it up
It was just that perfect place.

I could almost hear the words
“Your faith was strong
But you needed proof”…
I felt the string
Resonating with my heart
It’s true
I have felt like that
I guess it’s my curiosity
Always getting the best of me.
I watched my classic doll
All fixed up
As I was hearing the song
And then
That part
That brings redemption
Into my soul
“There is a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn’t matter
Which you heard
The holy or the broken
Hallelujah”…

Just a beautiful song
Coming from my quite
Unique
And lovely doll.

I guess
It’s like advice given
From my grandparents
Who I’ve never known.

A Fight Within

Powerless encounter
I felt in my self.
I’ve realized
How frail life is
And how the mind
Plays insecure games.

Sometimes
It even dares to kill
Before one builds a barricade.
Even the steps
To stop every enemy within
Is hard to overcome.

A fight
Against my weaker self
Is to unfold.

Tired…
Even breathing
Is tiresome
But I want to live
So I breathe
And I dream
And make plans.

I tell myself
Come on
You can do this!
Just a bit more
Keep walking
Keep wishing
Keep longing
Don’t let yourself collapse.

Don’t…

Just don’t give in.

It might be the beginning
Of a long journey…

Maybe not that long…

Who knows
But don’t give in.

If you fall
Get up!
It doesn’t matter
how long it takes
As long
As you get up
Don’t give up!

Yes…
You are tired
But who isn’t?
Even though it hurts to live
It’s that feeling…
The feeling of pain
That echoes
That resonates
Existence itself.

Yes…
It hurts to touch
Yet to embrace
And be embraced
Can diminish the pain.
Maybe even
Goes away.

Yes…
It hurts to belong
And suddenly disappear.
But without forming warm bonds
Life would be monotonous and cold.

YES…

It hurts when you write
But don’t stop
Write until the pencil falls.
Trace that world
Don’t let it be lost
Into nothingness.

Don’t stop loving
Until your last breath.
Don’t hate
And don’t hesitate
Trust God
And trust in yourself
Give it your all!

This is just another trial
This is just another stepping stone
To a better self.
Hear that?..

It is the sound of
shackles smashing the ground
The sound of liberating yourself
Of shedding that weaker self
And opening your wings
Like being born again
You’re free!
To conquer
Anything you wish.

YES…
You can do this…

Cold To The Bones

Wintertime
Cold and blackout time
People are starving
Thirsty and without a dime.

Pandemic time as well
As panic time
No light to heat
Food in freezer
Has gone bad
Since yesterday.

There should be a distance
Between people
Covid is still at large
Yet forced we are
Abandoning our shelters
For food supplies
And anything
That might warm us up.
Since what we had is perished
Due to lack of light.

But…
It’s not just us
It’s the whole community
We are all suffering
The big board game
The untouchables are playing.
We’re mere pieces
To toss and turn
To give some light
Or to freeze to death.

Zone of disaster we are called
Yet I see all of those big houses
With brilliant lights.
They tell us to unplug everything
They tell us to keep a low temperature
In our thermostat.
They tell us is our fault!

Yet…
I see those big houses
With Christmas lights
I see the businesses
Having their best time.

Is it just me?
Or is this
Just another political gamble
Just another way to torture
The masses in order
To win some big bucks
The old way…

I wonder…

Dirty House

By Rosalva Ruiz (SuperNova)

Is it the lack of will?
As I take part of the couch
I see the kids running
Screaming
Throwing legos around.

My head throbs
Poisonous cheers
Thorns prickling
My already wounded mind.
Bombs echoing my soul.

I take a look outside
The palms dance
With the beat of the wind.
Like two lovers embracing
Acknowledging each other’s presence.
Bodies entangled
And moving with ease
Circling with poise
What a beautiful sight.
My heart aches
Don’t know yet
If it’s by the lovely sight
Or the rumbling inside.

Teachers bleed their knowledge
I tell my kids “eyes on-screen.”
After a while
They get annoyed
And start hacking the system.
Two screens are shown
One with the teacher
The other
A youtuber it seems.

They forget
I know they do
So I become
That security guard
That unpleasant person
That keeps them on a leash.
I try my best to block
Their indifference
Sometimes
To the point of defiance.
My throat hurts
My heart aches
I block my tears.
They seem startled
For the moment
And back down temporarily.

I see my house being unattended
I keep feeling the urge
Yet they keep looking for an opportunity.
So I sit in this lousy couch
Like a watcher
Feeling insecure
Feeling the pressure
Trying to stop
Screams of joy
So the scholars pay attention.

This feeling of loneliness
This feeling…

I avert my gaze to the window
Once again
I see
Those dancing partners
I’m starting to envy them
Such lovely freedom.

I guess it’s finally getting me

This isolation

This impotence when it comes
To the school’s electronic devices.

The attention I give
To three different grade levels.

At the same time making
Food for them.

Trying to stop words
Coming out from their mouths
I have never said
In front of them.

All thanks to youtube
Thanks to the lack of admins permission
On the school’s electronic device.

Then again
grateful for this device
During these troubling times.

The pressure of them
Making a B or better.

It’s all scrambled eggs
Including the eggshells
They keep hurting
every time I chew and swallow.

I guess
Just like a dirty house
That needs to be cleaned
My soul
Also needs to be cleansed.

Words From Within

By Rosalva Ruiz (SuperNova)

I wouldn’t say
It’s a poem per say
It’s an out cry
From inside
Bleeding lines
Looking for a healing tonic
To induce an unfinished scar
While praying this pain
Is but another past
Another world
I can cast aside
Another reality
Written in paper
With this humble hand
Deliberating
If I should also
give it breath
Or just burn it
As if a secret mission
Never to be known.

Raw honey
That smoothens
My rough throat
Untying this knot
Giving reign
To this voice
To this pen
To this written page.

Glass like tears
Melted
Purified water
To be drank again
And again
Until others knots
Are untied as well.

Raw words
Not beautified
Just outlined
A beginning to an end
And end to begin
That is all…

Is This Really Goodbye?

What exactly am I looking for
In those crispy eyes?
A bit of your soul?
A reflection of my own?
But all I see is
Emptiness
Disgust
Not even
a hint of remorse..

And I…
I gave you
Everything
My time
My mind
My heart
I gave you my all
Without contemplating
My soul.

Yet all I see
Are those crispy eyes.
Not even a smile
Just an empty carcass
No love, no sentiment
Nothing
Is this really goodbye?

History In My Eyes

Life is but a book
The writer is but a politician
History is repeated
Just like any other book
The difference
Is the writer
The politician behind the pen
The plot is always the same
Sometimes well outlined
Sometimes lazy pillars
Either way
They both collapse 
In the reader’s eyes
Either at the middle
Or the end
But it’s always the same.
I see sickness of the mind
In these troubling times
I’ve seen how people
Get greedy with opportunities
I’ve seen a lousy storyteller
Light the last firework
To incite violence
And distract
The local readers. 

A mere copycat
Trying to rewrite
History’s thorn past.
Lost souls
In flames
In despair
Segregated
Malnourished
Hunger of hatred
Is what he seeks
Filming second-rate movies
For the world to see
Idiocracy at its full. 

And yet
I can’t seem to understand
The ignorant
I still can’t understand
The greedy
Much less
The influence
Of a mere liar. 

Is it sweet
yet stupid whisper?
Is a movie maker
More important
Than a leader?
Is a barricaded coward better
Than peaceful confrontation? 

Wake up America!
Terrorism is within
Is covered in fur
Doesn’t matter the softness
It was still teared from the prey!
Don’t shut your eyes
Don’t cover your ears
Don’t be distracted by lies
Don’t lose yourself in the fog.
Don’t
Please just don’t…

Shut Eyes

By Rosalva Ruiz (SuperNova)

I guess I knew
But I shut my eyes
I’ve imagined every excuse
You could think of
But never the color
Never the heritage
Never the roots of it all.

Thinking back
There was a time
When I lived at a small town
I was but seven
And fascinated with magic
Funny enough
A family of five
Came into town.

They were witches
The grownups said
They might put a spell on ya
They said and with that
Voiced barriers were made.

But I wanted to learn magic
Due to circumstances
I wanted to cast a spell
And protect myself.
I wanted to be invisible
To the masked people.
So either I died trying
Or never be able to.

And yes
A magic spell was cast
“Friendship”
The most beautiful there was.
I learned so many things
But never magic.
Sometimes
I was invisible to some people
Since they thought
I was stained
Which didn’t really matter
Since I was having other
Much more troubling affairs
At that time.

I once asked them
Why is everyone saying
You all are witches and yet
You all don’t know any magic?
Antonio’s mom answered
With a pained smile
“Well, it just came to be that way.”
I couldn’t understand why
She answered that way.

In fact I couldn’t understand
How his dad was always
Looking for a job
He often was fired
After a week or two of getting hired.

He was a loving father
He never drank
I never saw him raise his voice
He could do just about anything.
In my eyes, he was such a good guy
I just couldn’t understand it.

After a year
They left town
I never saw them again.

I didn’t get it back then
They were having a hard time coping
Getting acknowledged despite their looks
They barely had money for food
Yet they always invited me
To whatever they had in the table.

Why was I so naive back then?
Why didn’t I see the injustice?
Why did I shut my eyes?

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