by Simon Anton Nino Diego Baena

A flock of pigeons plays in my forehead—

a flat line of space in my window; rainbows,

birds, trees, the exploding silence—

I just can’t resist watching the beauty

of the sun, rising in the east, every morning;

hoping for some permanence of light 

in our lives. If only I could offer you

a song, or a poem in the shape of a tree,

a barbwire or a shard of glass. Then

there would be no crown of weariness

laced with chrysanthemums, like

those memories of old, when

I was a child, playing 

in some sun washed field, a flood

of seamless images of basketball

courts, mountain hikes, a day

in the farm, the scent

of wet earth and burnt sugar canes,

always it has a taste of honey

and rust, of what I have lost

in the past is also apparent

in the present. As of now,

the streets are filled with corpses

of dreams from last night.

And everything here is shaken

by the echoing noise

of boring television shows.

Editor’s Note on Morning Blues:

Morning Blues is not the first poem that Simon Anton Nino Diego Baena has had published in Eastlit. Apart from Morning Blues, he has previously had work published as listed:

• Boracay Blues and Others published in the February 2014 issue of Eastlit.