Thursday, 18 June 2015

My Heart

~Manu Mueller

“Julio is sweet
Julio is smart
Julio is a sweetheart”
Julio is Julia’s love
Julio and Julia both are Portuguese
Former for namesake, latter at heart

Julio’s America born
Writer he is but no ordinary
Languages French, Portuguese, German, Spanish
All flow through his soul
Virtuoso is the word they use to describe his artistry
And it was for one of his poems that he won Julia’s heart

Poem was 'Meu Coração'
Recited it was in Lisbon, Portugal
Near a beautiful eye catching lagoon
On a sunny busy day; Julia vividly remembered

Today was the day they stole each others' hearts
That is what led to this decision
Of trying a poem for her beloved
But the catch was she was trying to write in English
Her English was even worse than their old Spanish janitor

But she was not one to shy off from challenges
So she tried one more time-
“Julio is sweet
Julio is smart
Julio is a sweetheart
Julio makes me smile
Julio makes me laugh
Julio makes me blush
Julio makes me warm
Julio is my love
Julio is my heart
Julio is my heart”
The poem to her seemed terribly plain but effective
And no matter how hard she tried
It felt as if the words were stapled in her brain

And then she jumped like a kangaroo As the doorbell rang
Put on her slippers and hurried towards the door
Opened it and leaned forward to kiss him gently
She always knew when Julio was at the door

He was her Julio, her desire, her dream
Smiling at her, his eyes home to the bluest sea
They kissed again and this time more slowly
Letting the magic settle in the air more properly

Julia went to the kitchen and brewed some coffee
While Julio went to shower and as he removed his shirt
He saw a paper on the bed, bent he to hold it in his hand
And the lines on his face smoothened and turned into a nostalgic smile

Julia was busy making espresso Julio’s favorite
When Julio entered , the somehow, roulette shaped kitchen
With a paper in his hand on which stretched Julia’s curvy handwriting
“Oh! Wrote that poem for you I titled it ‘My Heart’
Not very flamboyant, simple like you
Hope you’d appreciate my hard work”
Said she, as if the words were sewn in her heart
Then all of a sudden both erupted into laughter
Laughter filled with a sweet secret each beheld
Lucky enough I was to have known their little secret
Years ago, similar words had crusaded Julia's heart
Near a beautiful eye catching lagoon;
On a sunny busy day in Lisbon, Portugal.


~ Manu Mueller

The cathedral bells rang as Sarah’s heart raced like a bullet
Today was when Joe would arrive; waiting she was for his embrace
Whilst, Richard sat solemnly then stood and struggled
Trying to grapple the names of the Apostles

There Sylvia, as Richard would call her: grandma
Brewed her special tea; the fragrance brought Richard towards her
He recited the names of the Apostles-“Saint Peter, Saint John, and Saint um….”
The last name tried he hard to pull
“He is invoked in helpless situations” his grandma prompted
Without reluctance he exclaimed-“Saint Jude!”

Sarah the mother entered and Richard flung into her arms
Without much ado Joe the father jived into the hall
All of them hugged and kissed like mad, and Sylvia the grandmother sent a little prayer to the Lord
She does that a lot, was brought up in a pretentious Christian family

The Bishop preached the Gospel; all rose for the Morning Prayer to be sung
Seeing him standing there singing in the choir made her heart burst with joy
Her little Richard singing the prayer; when all was done Richard walked hand in hand with his grandmother
And every night she recited him a verse of the holy Bible

Joe’s love for Sarah was taciturn
Sarah’s, more strident in approach
And whenever mother talked Richard felt
That a semblance tarnished his father’s soul

Five years after, the reverberations
of the Psalms and the Eulogies made his ears hurt
The sounds almost eerie made his chest burn
Tears incessantly slipped damping his black suit
His mother was an orthodox Jewish, the lapel
of his coat cut right over the heart manifested the harrowing absence
Making him realize the real reason behind his father’s reticence

In the spring of ’58 his father left
With a woman Richard would have never suspected
But that was not all spring had to offer
Richard fell in love with the girl of his dreams
She reminded him of his mother when she smiled
But glamour supposedly overpowered this sweet joy

And one wintry night Richard fled from his house
Leaving his grandmother to cry
She knows not where he is
For he never returned to his only lover alive

Roaming he is in the filthy streets of Nogales, Sonora
The a Capella that the Armenian Church nearby played wracked his nerves
The sermons that he’d heard over the years long back lost their effervescence
As the faiths Judaism, Christianity, Islam all seemed a cruel joke
Follower of Satan some call him when he walks down the road

Had it not been for the heinous conspiracies of the world
Poor Richard would have still loved the divinity
But sick he was of the demons of the world’s and his own
His ingenuity, innocence, spontaneity were taken away by the supreme
His heart no more hurts as madman he hath become

But somewhere in the abyss formed in his heart
He wants to believe the priests for once and for all
But the ineptness of the cause restraints him each time
Once was a devotee now a Pagan he’s forced to be for life