POEM: Anxiety... 53

• Moda
• 02-07-2023 10:00

You feel butterflies in your stomach. They flap their wings crazily  And it makes your stomach hurt.  The unrequited love keeps your stomach clenched  And it won’t let you go.  It goes on and on for years.  You stop eating,  You stop sleeping,  You lose weight.  You cry nights in a row.  The butterflies in your stomach are hungry for love  And they consume you from the inside out,  But in fact, you are battling anxiety.  You never tell your doctor how you feel.  You never treat anxiety with medication,  And it’s still there in you.  What’s the point of treating it, you think,  If the doctor will treat the effect and not the cause.  But you don’t care about the effect,  You only care about the cause.  Your anxiety will go when its cause goes.  And until then, 

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Happy Canada Day!... 58

• Moda
• 01-07-2023 10:00

Happy Canada Day to everyone! Enjoy your long weekend! ...

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POEM: First Date... 25

• Moda
• 30-06-2023 10:00

I kissed you on our first date. Your kiss tasted like honey.  I was looking into your eyes.  Why did you kiss me on our first date?  I kissed you because I was infatuated with you.  But why don’t you like that I kissed you on our first date?  Why were you looking into my eyes?  Why didn’t you close your eyes when you kissed me?  I wanted to connect with you.  But why don’t you like that I looked into your eyes when I kissed you?  My old girlfriend was always closing her eyes when she was kissing me.  But I’m not your old girlfriend.  Why do you want me to be like your old girlfriend?  What if I wanted to make love to you on our first date? ~~~~~~~~~~ From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 3

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POEM: I Wish I Were an Artist... 25

• Moda
• 29-06-2023 10:00

I wish I were an artist to portrait those whom I love. As a writer, I express my feelings in words.  I wish I could do so in colors.  One day I take a brush and a canvas,  And I let my heart do the work.  I don’t think, I feel.  The brush brings color to the canvas,  And the color comes to life.  The canvas comes back to me with a story to tell.  It’s two-dimensional,  But it’s the start of a journey which I hope will take me places,  One step at a time.  And now I look at a portrait of those whom I love,  And I can put my name on it – the artist.  ~~~~~~~~~~  From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 34.

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POEM: Reflection... 26

• Moda
• 28-06-2023 10:00

I look in the mirror and I think about my mother. My reflection reminds me of her when she was my age.  I look at my face,  And I see my mother in my own eyes.  I look at my arms,  And I remember her arms when she was holding and hugging me as a little girl,  When she was singing me lullabies at bedtime.  Sometimes I sing my childhood lullabies to my baby,  And it feels like my mother is there with me,  Like an angel observing me from a discreet distance.  I remember my mother’s love flowing through the lullaby rhymes when she was singing it to me as a young child.  And now I whisper it to my baby when I sing for him at night.  I am truly my mother’s daughter. ~~~~~~~~~~ From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 33.

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POEM: Elmo... 28

• Moda
• 27-06-2023 10:00

When my son was two years old, His favorite toy was Elmo.  The red furry monster from the kids’ movies was his best friend and his companion.  He loved taking Elmo with him everywhere.  He loved hugging him,  Kissing him,  Tucking him in when he was going to bed at night.  It was my love for my baby.  It was his love for Elmo.  I was telling him “I love you” every night.  He was telling Elmo “I love you” every night.  Love you baby.  Love you Elmo.  Love transcending. ~~~~~~~~~~ From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 32.

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POEM: September Baby... 78

• Moda
• 26-06-2023 10:00

My son was born on a September night.  It was 3 AM when I first held him in my arms.  He announced his coming into this world the prior December,  The holiday season.  I couldn’t possibly wish for a better Christmas gift. Many of my friends’ children were born in September.  My baby, her oldest, his youngest, both of their kids.  There are so many September birthdays in my circle  That every year we throw a giant birthday party  For everybody born in September.  Lots of babies born in September,  Lots of kids to celebrate. And all of them were conceived by their parents in December.  The Christmas season.  The holiday cheer.  We tend to love each other over the holiday season more than the rest of the year.  So much so that the month of December has become a baby boom for u

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POEM: Childbirth... 76

• Moda
• 25-06-2023 10:00

I want to be your mother. Your father and I love each other,  And we’re anxiously waiting for the wonderful news.  Finally, an angel tells me what I wish to hear.  You will come into my life,  And I will be your mother.  A new life grows in me.  I hear your first heartbeat.  Two hearts beating in unison,  Mother and son.  And then you are here.  I feel a sharp pain.  Like a thousand knives stabbing me.  I scream.  But screaming is good,  And I am grateful for screaming,  Because it pulls me through the pain,  And I bravely take it.  It’s worth all the pain just to have you here.  And now you are in my arms,  And I am so blessed to meet you.  child, my most cherished treasure.  I cry, but it’s a happy cry.  The pain still stabs me with a thousa

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POEM: Pregnancy... 98

• Moda
• 24-06-2023 10:00

When I was pregnant with my child, I dreamed about my mother being pregnant with me.  When I had my morning sickness,  I could feel my mother’s sickness  As she carried me in her womb.  When I felt my pain,  I felt my mother’s pain too.  When I couldn’t sleep at night,  I knew that neither she could sleep all those years ago when she was expecting me.  Now I know how my mother felt,  As I felt the same pain.  My mother is a saint.  Motherhood is saint.

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POEM: City of Lights, City of Love... 25

• Moda
• 23-06-2023 13:28

We’re in Paris. It’s been my biggest dream to come here.  La Tour Eiffel.  Trocadéro.  Arc de Triomphe.  Champs-Élysées.  Louvre.  La Pyramide.  Arc du Carrousel.  Place de la Concorde.  L’Obélisque de Louxor.  La Seine.  Les bateaux-mouches.  Les bouquinistes.  Pont Neuf.  Notre-Dame de Paris. Île de la Cité.  Sainte-Chapelle.  Le Quartier Latin.  La Sorbonne.  Montmartre.  Moulin Rouge.  Sacré-Cœur.  And I love you more than anything else in the world.  It’s the two of us in Paris, and I am so happy to be here with you. When we return, I want us to be the three of us.  City of lights, city of love. ~~~~~~~~~~ From my book of poetry Sunset in Toro

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