Sun Kissed Days

Sun Kissed Days

Thursday, July 23, 2020

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.




Sunday, June 28, 2020

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...  

Tuesday, June 16, 2020

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. 

Sunday, June 7, 2020

The Next Genertaion Indie Book Award

🎉 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

Sunday, May 24, 2020

Sophia Brianna


Little darling,
your crown shimmers in the light.
How gentle yet fierce you are.
No traces of defiance on 
your face,
only evidence of clarity and courage.
A fearlessness that is born
from knowing in your marrow,
your identity 
and your purpose.
The trees sway as you walk
among them.
They whisper sweet lullabies
in your ears.
The moon dances
to your inner light.
Your body flows.
Your heart expands with love.
Your crown lighting your way
like a lantern in the night.



My sweet granddaughter was born March 19 in the midst of the pandemic. Both her parents are doctors. It's a challenging time. There are so many wishes that I wish for her during these blurry and uncertain times. The day she was born she brought her light into our dark days.

Sunday, December 29, 2019

Juden


Tolerance,
compassion,
inclusion. 
Don't be fooled
by the words uttered,
by the words articulated.
We are slaughtered in the streets,
blood stains on the pavements,
in the synagogues,
in our neighborhoods. 
Tolerance,
compassion,
inclusion,
don't be fooled by the chatter.
Hatred is sprouting,
growing,
flowing,
igniting like wildfire.
My father threatened to sit shiva
when I left.
I made him into Tevye. 
Grandma warned me
that one day my love 
would call me a dirty Jew.
She said it would come on a day
when life was grey,
and hard words are exchanged.
Words that wound.
Words that leave scars.
My father was a boy,
with hazel eyes
and black wavy hair.
He laid on the ground and drank
from puddles,
while frogs watched him 
and rifles were pointing close by.
He was just a boy...
I made him into Tevye .
I wore a cross in my heart,
he looked away.
He did not sit Shiva when I left.
He did not rip his clothes in mourning.
Instead, he just loved me. 
Memory resided on his skin,
in his eyes,
in his voice.
It was handed down in my veins,
in my blood.
In dreams that I dreamt
as a child.
I am bathing in the breath
of all that was
and all that remains.
Amid all the noise,
I stand,
a yellow star on my chest.