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Tag Archives: growing up

Through the seasons of life

crunching under the burden... ©copyright2013owpp

crunching under the burden…

Leaving early in the morn
Your heart heavy yet light
With hope…

You travel the void of
Subways and commuters,
Walk through dead leaves
Crunching under the burden

Greeted by a lambent
Welcome, a twinkle thick
With enthusiasm you whisper
a small prayer for the tiny
Warm hand

Fitting trustingly yours,
Unaware of the odyssey in
Its genesis unconcerned
About the accessories…
A prerequisite

For endurance as he walks
through the seasons of life
The arteries…

Of his universe


The reality of who we all are-1989 adjusted 19.4.2013

the runner ©copyright2013owpp

the runner

The reality of who we all are

Weary is the runner
Who tried it all.
Nothing that can wrench
A smile from her heart
Has she found

Look and search some more
To run away from
The confinement of her reign.
Spent to the bone
Society lifting her up to hegemony (1)

Weary is she, the runner
Who is a slave to her name
Starting off out of ardor
Never for the claim.
Loosing amity along the track

Collecting honorariums
Thrown at her as a redress
To satisfy her hunger
For fusion and empathy
What is given to the many

Oh! She does find it…
Between two laps of breath
Falling into the trap of poise
The opulence of comfort
The warmth of Kith & Kin

Only to be snatched back
To the constant drill.
Why me, does she ask
Were my choices a delusion
The erratum of my own doing (2)

Speculating she is the only
Stooge life has nominated
The quarry that has stumbled
On a boulder that was waft
On the path of earth

She vows to sleep on these
Wise discoveries with hope
Next day would bring
More reflection and ease
To the happy runner

She wants so much to embody
Still unaware of the cheers
And encouragement of peers
That have been forged by
That same mass hurled

At what became their biography
The journal of their gumption (3)
The teachings available on
The benches of what is solid
The reality of who we all are…

A runner.

n. pl. he•gem•o•nies
The predominant influence, as of a state, region, or group, over another or others.

n. pl. er•ra•ta
An error in printing or writing, especially such an error noted in a list of corrections and bound into a book.
[Latin err tum, from neuter past participle of err re, to stray; see ers- in Indo-European roots.]

n. Informal
1. Boldness of enterprise; initiative or aggressiveness.
2. Guts; spunk.
3. Common sense.

My little big brother Dec 2011 English poem with its French original text



My little big brother

In a corner
Of the kitchen
You take care
Of your whitened sheet
A determined
And applied air
You play
Without guile
On your very wise
Peace wanders

A fresh air
Of nearly indecent
Of your childhood
Just beginning.
I approach very closely
In silence
Your darkened sheet
With dense numbers
Your hobby.
An automatic reflex.

I dream
Of a truce
In my nightmare
And I fall
By chance
On a brother
That “lays”
The genius
Without pleasing
Without denying


A thousand years
I take a walk
In the town
Of Tel Aviv
Where you lead
The step
Head high
Without failing
Toward a sea
Where the waves
Whisper softly

Where is hidden
The imaginary
And I tell you
This feeling
That never lies
But you smile.
Like a palm
Your face.
The scenery.
No flattery
Do you “bite”

But it is the truth
That hit me
Your sense of pride
Touched me
I found back
Your very marked
Of the past.
A wave
Of softness
As a probe
Engraves my heart
Erases all pain
Eliminates fear.

With dignity
At your side
I can walk
For eternity.
Never will I forget
This privileged moment
Buried in the past
Dusted away
To compose
This poem
Slightly bohemian
To celebrate
A sacred bond.

Like the sea
You will have a place
That never erases
Not with time
Anchored in the blood
And I realized
That forever
I will call you
Tall and proud,

My little big brother!

Mon petit grand frère

Dans le coin
De la cuisine
Tu prends soin
De ta feuille blanchie
Un air appliqué
Et decide
Tu t’amuses
Sans ruse.
Sur ton visage
Trés sage
Erre une paix
Un air tout frais
De l’innocence
Presque indecente
De ton enfance,
A peine commencée.

J’avance tout près.
En silence
Ta feuille noircie
De chiffres denses
Les mathématiques
Ton hobby.
Reflex automatique.
Je rêve
D’une trêve
Dans mon cauchemar.
Et je tombe
Au hasard
Sur un frère
Qui pond
Du génie
Sans plaire
Sans déni


Mille ans
En avant,
Je me promène
Dans la ville
De Tel Aviv
Où tu mènes
Le pas
Tête haute
Sans faute
Vers une mer
Où les vagues
Chuchotent tout bas

Où se terre
Et je te dis
Ce sentiment
Qui, jamais ne ment
Mais tu souris.
Le calme
Comme une palme
Ton visage.
Le paysage.
Aucune flatterie
Tu ne mords

Mais c’est la vérité
Qui m’a frappée
Ta fierté
M’a touchée
J’ai retrouvée
Ta personnalité
Très marqué
Du passé.
Une onde
De douceur
Comme une sonde
Grave mon cœur
Efface toute douleur
Elimine la peur.

Avec dignité
A tes cotés
Je peux marcher
Pour l’éternité.
Jamais je n’oublierais
Ce moment privilégié
Enfoui dans le passé
Pour composer
Ce poème
Un peu bohème
Pour célébrer
Un lien sacré.

Comme la mer
Tu auras une place
Qui ne s’efface
Ni avec le temps
Ancré dans le sang,
Et j’ai réalisée
Qu’à tout jamais
Je t’appellerais
Toute haute et fière

Mon petit grand frère !