Wicked

If the face of a man was a portrait of his personality

It would be blue, now red, now safe

Some would be abstract and open to interpretation,

Some fearful,

Others sweet and beautiful,

Others faceless,

If the eyes of a man held the expression of his heart

They would shine bright, now dark, now wicked

Wicked for he could see to the very depths of your soul

Wicked, for his smile could melt the heart of a goddess

His words like sweet nectar, will trap…

Flip a coin, and his passions fiery and fearful, not for the faint of heart

Will be the oppressor,

But if his eyes could betray the extent of his conduct,

There will be no lilies trapped in webs of poisonous honey

For they would fleet away in an instant

And all will be plain as day.

-Nemi B

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The Voice of Eden

Eden      The fragrant smell of aged wine drifted into the air like one being called forth by the melodious pipe of a sorcerer. She sat by the window seat, still like the statue of a saint, hardened like forged steel. But her countenance, it was filled with grace! Her dark hair rolled softly about her shoulders like a silken threads, and her smile, in the days she used to smile, lit up the very night sky.
When Eden’s father died, one can say that misfortune and his friends arrived upon her threshold. Her life lost its luster, and she became a shadow of herself. Bright lively eyes became stern and brooding, lips that easily curved remained a firm line like she bit them in order to remain silent and unspoken to.
She shunned gay colors, but consented to black and grey, forever in mourning. The voice of Eden, it danced upon one’s ears as lightly as a feather would brush against the frail leaves of a tree- her father loved to hear her sing. It lingered like the drowsiness that often accompanies port. It soothed like the drops of rain on the day of an unforgiving summer, and it nourished the hearts of all who were blessed to have heard it so that they ached and lusted to their ruin. And when Aunt Betsy came to visit, Aunt Betsy who was to Eden like a breath of fresh air…still there was no change.

“Can she no longer speak?” Aunt Betsy inquired of her mother

“The doctors say she is in a state of shock…”

“For two years! Mercy me” Aunt Betsy clucked her tongue

“Shh, do not speak of it” her mother cautioned weakly, nervous fingers gripped her tea cup as though clinging for dear life. She could not bear to see Eden’s almost soulless eyes, fixed upon her in disapproval of being discussed.

“But she cannot carry on so!” Aunt Betsy exclaimed eyeing Eden pitifully out of the corner of her eye as she sat by the window, looking out at the world below. Things went on in this manner, until one night when the clock struck twelve, and a maid whom had awoken to get herself some water, caught a glimpse of a figure in a white flowing gown. She gasped in surprise “Why, t’is Lady Eden, upon my word and clothed not in black!”

The figure turned to reveal tear stricken cheeks and then Eden did a most surprising thing startling the maid out of her wits so much that she knocked over a lamp, and it crashed to the ground!

Eden spoke.

Quietly, but audibly enough.

“Papa was poisoned by mother, it is with these hands that I fed him the medicine which I thought would make him well, but it was all her doing, all of it, Oh Marian! Do you think papa would forgive my childish foolishness?” Her voice had not lost its radiance for all the silence it had borne these two years and her hands, which now gripped the shoulders of the maid were alarmingly firm and cold. Marian, still very much startled, managed to somewhat collect herself on hearing the sound of approaching footsteps. The noise had awoken the Manor. But Eden was already gone!

As Marian fumbled for words to explain what had just occurred, leaving out Eden’s distressed message while eyeing her mistress with a curious eye, it was with excitement on hearing that Eden had spoken at all that the mistress of the manor, along with Aunt Betsy, the doorman, and the servants made their way to Eden’s chamber, where they found her lying peacefully in black like a princess in a picture book.

Not a single breath escaped her, Eden was cold as marble.

-Nemi Boyo

 

 

Image Credit:  http://asimg.artsolution.net/tsmedia/MacConnalMasonMacphoto/MacConnalMason1162008T123442.jpg?qlt=100&ftr=8&cell=950,500&cvt=jpeg

 

 

Every day is beautiful

Distant beats arouse my feet so with the ground they meet,
The sands of Porto da Barra sift through my toes, Warm from the heat of the Bahiana sun,
The ocean sprays upon my face; the air is fresh with salt…
Água de côco cool and sweet, like the beats of OlodumOlodum
Ah Olodum! You know the pathway to my heart
The beats entice, so hips sway restless and feet move in samba formation,
Seduced by Caipirinha Capoeira dancers line the streets,
My heart skips a jolly beat because it’s alive,
The music, the dancing, the laughter, the singing,
Celebrating life “todos os dias é bonita”

 

Glossary:
Porto da Barra: a beach in Salvador
Bahiana: from the state of Bahia
Água de côco: Coconut water
Olodum: African- Brazilian Percussive group
Caipirinha: Brazil’s national cocktail made with a distilled alcohol known as Cachaça, sugar, and lime
Capoeira: Brazilian martial art that combines dance, music and acrobatics
Todos os dias é bonita: Every day is beautiful

 

Image Credit: http://www.copa2014.gov.br/pt-br/noticia/olodum-araketu-e-margareth-menezes-se-destacam-na-fan-fest-de-natal

Sociopathic Amusement

eyeThe words, they rush like a bubbling stream,
Enchanting, soothing just like a dream
Alas! The clock wakes all hidden lusts,
The mask slips suddenly, behold the truth!
But is it truth or falsities created,
Did that really happen or is it in your head?
Actions not matching with words…
Today charming he arrives, but ‘morrow brings him wicked,
He leaves, he stays, or so he says,
Playing heart strings like metal smiths do rings,
Now warm and laughing, now cold and stiff,
With eyes that pierce your very soul,
Unsettling the calm and birthing mischief,
All for amusement and nothing but…
A tangled web from the words he weaves,
A string of confusion behind he leaves,
Reason with him not, you’ll think you’re crazy,
Cut your losses, don’t be hazy
When down that stormy path you gaze you’ll shake your head,
But truly sleep soundly in your bed.

-Nemi Boyo

 

Image Credit: Original source unknown (google images)

I feel, so I’m alive

to-be-aliveAt least I can see the trees,
And I feel, so I’m alive,
And I can touch the drops… they fall against my pane,
And no I am not alone, because the wind responds,
The echoes are my own, my own, my own,

The silence bids me softly so that I can sleep,
And even though there is struggle,
To my strength I keep,
You’re weak if you give up, and not because you cry
You’re weak if you give in, and not because you sigh.window-tree

I feel, so I’m alive,
From my bed I see the trees,

And even though there is struggle,
To my strength I keep,
And no I’m not alone, because the wind responds,
The echoes are my own, my own, my own.

-Nemi Boyo

 

Image Credit (retrieved from): http://www.dingtwist.com/to-be-alive/

and avast.files.wordpress

 

 

Remembering

remembering“I promise you, once you can find the strength to break away from negativity,
be it in the form of people, an environment, or your own thoughts, you’ll discover the world anew. Sometimes it’s not about finding yourself, because you already did, it’s about remembering who you are.”

-Nemi Boyo

 

Image credit (retrieved from): http://www.swordofthespirit.net/bulwark/april2012p17.htm