And, If Somehow This Finds You; MΓ©rci, Mon Amie!

Poetry

I’ll remember the joyous days, the moments of wonder, the smile I wore, within your presence and so much more.

Times forever,

yet scarce – and wasted,

mortalities reason.

Yet, if given a thousand years;

I’d still remember our time together.

The spills, the laughs, the moments that made me wish a single moment could last forever…

The moments that visions are built on,

the moments that myths yield, I shall forever shield, for they are moments that I refuse to relinquish.

For if I had a thousand more Septembers;

no less of those moments will I remember.

You shaped my world,

revived my hope,

which made my world.

So if those moments must pass, then let that be, let moments fade to memories – just capture them.

If time is forever, then so to is our bond.

And if somehow… if somehow this may find you;

mΓ©rci, mon amie, mΓ©rci.

Still Busy In Wonder,

Asya Valentine.

From the Ashes

Poetry

As peace was breached through sleepless nights,Β no cloud, no fall could dim your light;
ones grateful here yet needed time,
oh as dreams would have it, I needed mine.


Some thousand days of note,
our somber days a’ mote.
Where fury and fire once merged, from the ashes of pain, grew hope.
Oh as life would have it you made me grow.

1818 – Ω‚ΩˆΨ© ΨͺΨΆΨ§Ω…Ω†ΩŠΨ©

philosophy, Poem, Poetry, thoughts

C2C28535-7928-4E3A-9E53-6021E6C3EE11Raise your voice and speak.
Speak for those without speech,Β stand for those without feet,
cry for those who won’t weep,
fight for those you can’t see
and hope for those who don’t dream.

 

While you love your sons, remember the mothers, while you guide your daughters, don’t forget the brothers.
He whom love left, those abandoned by freedom.
She who’s bombarded with visions, disenfranchised by systems, enamoured by false wisdom, entrapped by mental prisons.


Never forget the voiceless.
For your voices power is reliant on its relationship to the lack there of for others.Β For the power in your word is plural and of universal consequence.
Never forget the voiceless.
For he who ignores oppression does so at his own peril, as all rights are merely privileges in the face of tyranny.

Busy in Wonder… #JC4PM

philosophy, Poem, Poetry, thoughts

A chance at hope,

a new deal for the downtrodden.

A chance for the maligned and forgotten,

smell the air of change a brand new promise.

 

Broken homes, broken dreams for a nation on the edge,

pain and turbulence, suffering and chaos, by design not an act of nature.

Opportunity stripped our systems rotten,

if all is broken we must look to economics.

 

War in foreign lands,

war on drugs…

a nation divided,

we must cease all the violence

and tackle the climate.

 

Time to march,

time to occupy,

time to vote.

Cash in on due change,

today’s the time for hope.

My Blessing

philosophy, Poem, Poetry, thoughts

Swallowed by darkness,

trapped in fear,Β 

fear of the darkness

I’d hoovered and hoarded.

Consumed by guilt,

by pain, the struggle of knowing

you made mistakes, took closed routesΒ 

that secured this lonely fate.

Until the day I were saved,Β 

the day you grabbed my heart,

the day you made me change.Β 

The day you gave me hope,Β 

the day my dreams replayed.

You gave me light and for that I give thanks,Β 

for fixing the brokenΒ 

and filling the blanks.

 

Busy in wonder: Who Knows, Maybe I’ll See The Glass Half full…

Insight, philosophy, thoughts, Uncategorized

If only for myself I write these thoughts, I’ll write yet more, to satisfy my own yearn for expression, my own desire to be heard, to matter, to be greater than the some of my parts. I know that my mirror reflects a man greater than it’s shown, a man with potential untapped and projections uncapped. I see a man of honour, I see a man of trust and wisdom. A man who’s allowed experience to guide him but knowledge to shape him. I see him stand, I see him speak, compassionate and firm, a glaring light.

Yet still most days I wonder. Most days I’m aware of who I am, who I was and who I would like to be – and I wonder, had my previous self been a little more free, free to think free to read, free to learn, free to be; and he had stood before that mirror would he see what I now see? And if that be true, then had time been wasted? Maybe. Or maybe it’s the experience that allows context to be applied to new knowledge. Maybe it’s the pain, maybe it’s the memories, maybe it’s the thoughts that only I can access, in the darkest corners of pneuma that even allow such a reflection to be possible.

These moments lead me to think that my vision isn’t in-spite of experience, but tethered to memory of all ilk. What I mean is that hope is a result of understanding ones experience and supplementing that with knowledge. I’m saying that growth in and of itself is doomed vanity hunt. For I could educate myself one thousand times over, make all the right decisions on paper and still not be a better Asya.

Hope is my wonder and I’ll be forever busy…

No Happy Endings…

Insight, philosophy, Poem, Poetry, thoughts

 

All the times I told myself I’ll be fine,Β 

I probably meant it.

When the stars in your sky won’t align,Β 

you’ll change perspectives.Β 

When your season just remains for a change,Β 

then you’ll accept it.Β 

Reason indicates there’s more pain,Β 

no happy endings.Β 

Forever and Always

philosophy, Poem, Poetry, thoughts

Let’s defy logic,

your star lit mine, to redefine logic,

forever, a pair we shine.

Joy omits, where love exists;

so pure and bliss

the yearn to unite, whenever apart.

Can’t beat apart – can’t breathe apart, or be apart;

I’d split my heart and hand you half.

 

Let’s re-write the tales,

construct companionship in reality.

Watch stars align, as we dance through time,

let’s redefine the humble life, the earnest life.

Let’s capture time – harbour time or waste it trying.

If happiness exist, I just hope we can find it.

I’ll Read This Later

philosophy, Poem, Poetry, thoughts

Written today, I’ll read it later,

penned September, remembered forever.

Better days both ahead and behind,

the beauty of life, thus the wonder of time. When I read this later I’ll know,

how things panned, not how they penned.

When I read this later I’ll understand,

who I am and how things went,

what will be when all is said

and who I’ve become once this ends.

 

What’s decided now, I’ll visit then,

for only time will bring understanding.

Only history can judge my steps;

for we are all but footnotes in the end,

Seen 24 summers and winters too.

Where it pours it shines,

where it’s cold there is warmth,

on this journey of mine

who knows what’s due.

So I’ll visit this all later, for now I’ll leave this to you.

 

Here’s to my 24th season.

Asya Valentine ✍🏾….

 

 

Poem, Poetry, thoughts, Uncategorized

What we are is endless,

what we are is recollections,

joy and anger,

souls marked by distance

and bound by time.

 

So to those who touched my life,

I pen this;

ode to friendship, kinship,

ode to love, the father of glory.

Glory for those who touched this story.

 

The days page turns,

companionship fans the flare of faith,

each bond rare and hard to break.

I cherish those ties, so hard to make

and give glory to those who fashioned this story.

Coalition of The Broken

Insight, philosophy, Poem, Poetry, thoughts, Uncategorized

Engulfed by storms, when it rains it pours; no shelter for our dreams.

Despite the facts, all that we lacked,

in hope we stood,

with unreachable goals and the ignorance of innocence.

Time ticks, each of our canvas’ painted, they who were pure now bruised and tainted, sad and broken, alienated and dangerous.

So we leave dreams to sleep, if all loves attached to conditions just leave us be. From dreams to reality,

so many wide asleep, as we lay fast awake in our nightmares.

Open minds meet closed eyes.

Just pain and sorrow when we shut our eyes,

we hate this world but love our lives.

If only time could be renewed and history replayed.

I’d redraw the canvas, renegotiate our hate, redraft our deal, incubate the pain.

Provide us hope, ignite our dreams, engage our joys and redefine β€˜we’.

But where imagination and reality cross, we fine tune our desire, give glory to struggle and speak truth to power.