My Boy And The Moon

Dear moon,
have I told you that every time

I see you,

I think of

my boy?
The way his eyelashes gently flutter when he sleeps.
The way he reaches for my hand to grasp it.
He tells me,
"I love you to the moon and back, grandma."
His eyes mischievous and luminous.
He watches the moon
as I do,
in separate cities
but joined in thought and in spirit.

The full moon intrigues him.

The quarter of the moon leaves him with anticipation for the growth

that will transpire.

He wishes he could touch the moon,
hold the moon in his hand and
place it back in the dark sky to light the way,
for all those lost,
for all those unloved.
Because his heart is full,
his heart is kind,
his love is complete.

Fifty Plus

Rebel,
believer,
dreamer.
Woman,

INVISIBLE.

Your pulse was thunder,
your hands were tender,
your eyes were luminous
like your soul.
Your laughter echoed in dark alleys,
your lips were devoured.
You drank,
you spoke loudly,
you dreamed big.
You lived in the moment,
your skies were vast.
Your journey on broken shards
made you stronger.
Your exterior beauty changed.
Your inner beauty grew

and evolved into something bigger than you.

FIFTY
INVISIBLE?
NOT!
sexism,
youth obsessed culture
denies you entry or importance
but you won’t surrender.

You have settled in your vessel,
you have shed your skin.
You have found serenity
and humor.
Your fire raging,

your spirit elevated.

You bridge the old world with the new.
Wondering how you arrived
to this intersection sooner than you thought,
while you were
living a full life.
Holding,
embracing,
cradling,
everyone you’ve ever loved.

Aiden Three Laps Around The Sun

The blue wood maracas laid 

on the piano where we left them.

The spider frightened you

but not the dragonfly.

You weave sentences into a

continuous conversation.

You walk with the confidence

of a boy who is loved,

  a boy kissed by the sun and the moon.

Three years old

and life is unfolding 

with deep seeds of love

and knowledge ingrained in your being.

We walk side by side,

our friendship magnified 

by every magical story told,

with games that soothe wounds.

Engaging in questions,

delighting in the solutions.

Discovering new quests,

creating new dreams.

Life amplified with 

endless possibilities.

Dying Alone

Modern day warriors

on the front lines of big cities

and small towns.

They walk the narrow path,

their minds wide open,

their hearts stretched.

The scrubs,

masks and gear they adorn

do not shield them from 

the vulnerability of the moments

hanging in a haze.

 The shifts are long,

days stretched into nights.

Hours that wear on the mind and soul.

They watch the sick,

the fragile,

those 

that want to take a breath

but can not.

Those that fade away dying alone,

alone,

alone.

The room empty

no love whispered,

nor prayers.

Poetry on their skin

as their eyes drift.

The ventilators stand guard,

voices heard through the corridor walls.

There is no parole from this prison,

no furlough.

There are monitors and screens
displaying vital signs 

and humans in spacesuits.

There are memories that play with the mind

in and out of awareness. 

A nurse holds a phone

to witness a last goodbye

to cherished ones.

Fragments of a conversation,

amends for words unspoken,

for dreams unfulfilled.

One more day,

one more night,

if only...  

Video of The Color of My Blood

The Color Of My Blood

The shape of my eyes,

the sound of my voice,

the shade of my skin,

my sexuality.

The color of my blood

the same 

as yours.

If you saw the light in my eyes,

if you saw my mother's tears,

if you felt her fears,

grief engraved on her skin.

Would you have yanked me

like a weed from the
garden of life,
Would you have shattered
me in pieces
 leaving me
to bleed out in the dark.
Ideologies differ,
dreams unalike,
my diversity
makes me
unique,
beautiful,
majestic,
a beacon in the fiber
of humanity.
The shape of my eyes,
the sound of my voice,
the shade of my skin,
my sexuality.
The color of my blood
same as yours. 

 

 

I am re-posting this poem that I dedicated to the victims of the Pulse nightclub. I want to share it for Tuesday Pride. We must have a voice for all the voiceless. 

The Next Genertaion Indie Book Award

Golden Dragonfly Press

6 hrs ·

🎉 Congratulations Ayala! 🎉
"Second Chances: Poetry from a Sun-Kissed Life" by Ayala Zarfjian was selected as the WINNER of the Next Generation Indie Book Awards in the POETRY category.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
All proceeds donated to charity.
Learn More:
https://bookshop.org/a/8366/9781732577299
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
For more Award Winners & Finalists:
https://bookshop.org/lists/award-winners-finalists

Golden Dragonfly Press