Category: Poetry

how many times does it beat 
how many breaths
how does the red sparrow eat

how many worries
how many times will i blink
how many sounds within the silence
how many thoughts do i think

how many feelings
how much suffering
how much healing
how much love am i concealing

how many words to quarry a moment
buried in the mind
how many years benighted
opulence already mine

how many places to travel
how many things do i need 
how much time is required for a wish to unravel

how much space does it take
how long will i wait 
on fate, to bring what i deserve.

how many thanks can i give
how many lives have i lived
each more sublime than before.

By. K. Osei

 mid september, sky diving leaves
lay faded and scattered upon battered fields of green
abandoned bony branches once arrayed
as noticeable in the nude as they are fully dressed

twirl and spin, softly descend to death — and that is life.

in a room from the rear i look upon myself with rapture
and i can see the ocean all day
smokey waves, and branches that sway.

how does the jay capture the fly
in his zig-zag pattern and butter in his eye. 

in such times, thought is distraction, conversation empty, 
the span of a moment transcends time, venues vanish,
the breeze of flow, satin winds blow, strumming the trees to the sound of rest
as they toss, releasing their grasp of leaves
and i hear a whisper, softly beneath it all — hallelujah, Hallelujah!

By K.Osei

a good book flows like Taichi, 
it can never truly be possessed. 
it moves between friends like good feelings.

like the tiger, 
its contents is without contention,
it can only be embraced for a while
and returned to the mountain.

it circulates and evolves.  
revolves like chi, 
like fair ladies work the shuttle.

it guides the hand like braille 
through text and texture, 
conceiving new life
soft and subtle as baby’s breath.

By K. Osei

silence beneath tinnitus

breath flows below sinus
slithers of light pierce the blinds as dawn wrestles dusk
in a room dimly lit, 
i lay supine to the first day of creation.
unblemished before the lies, before violation,
air moves, sounds rise, light comes forth through the soil of stillness,
life begins – and there it ends, only to return without end.
the delicate dance I am.
what will be supplants that I see,
it is finished, it begins, it leaves and returns
it is whole if I can hold it.
i am that I am.

By K. Osei

a time to die
a time for birth
a time for joy 
a time to cry

everything is a season
though nothing ever dies,
thought transforms reason 
right before our eyes, 
for death is the illusion 
of life in disguise. 

a time to die
a time for birth
a time for joy
a time to cry

a time for time,
to be here – now.

a time to smell,
to touch, to breath 
a time to look, 
to love, to leave.

a time to study
a time to teach,
to forget 
and remember,
a time to fast,
a time to feast,

to grasp and yield
a time for each.

by K. Osei