sePtember

 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

aSante sana

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

aWakening

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

seaSons

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

My lady returns

(Flora De Pota)

Did you miss me, my dear?
It is hard to say, whether miff or bliss, your correction reveals no favor, though it has been eight long years and my frailty has become apparent – even so, you replinish me. I’d almost forgotten how beautifully brutal you are but you remind me with every expulsion, that true peace and freedom is not without sacrifice.  Through pain, you resolve my pain. You restore my vision, that I may marvel at your glory. My breath moves without obstruction and I chase your aroma once more. 

My love, did you miss me? Your abode was not as before. Was it mercy or apathy? With  pure heart you purify all who partake. I see you have aged as well, a wrinkle in form, your manners remain the same. You humble  me and I am weakened. 

 Just as I am about to fold, you subside.

Shall we ever meet again? “If there is need – but know, time does not favor your weakness. My nature is not gentle. You must keep my words.”  

I have missed you, my fettle.

I must rest now, you leave me exhausted. Tomorrow I shall be exalted as before

by K. Osei