“Never Thought (That I Could Love)”

love-more-than-before1

Can I touch you?
I can’t believe that you are real
How did I ever find you?
You are the dream that saved my life
You are the reason I survived
Baby…

I never thought that I could love
Someone as much as I love you
I know it’s crazy but it’s true
I never thought that I could need
Someone as much as I need you
I Love You…

Can I hold you?
Girl your smile lights up the sky
You are too beautiful for the human eye
You are the dream that never dies
You are the fire that burns inside
Baby…

I never thought that I could love
Someone as much as I love you
I know it’s crazy but it’s true
I never thought that I could need
Someone as much as I need you
I Love You…

You are the sunshine in the sky
You are the sparkle in my eyes

I never thought that I could love
Someone as much as I need you
I know it’s crazy but it’s true
I know it’s truelove
I never thought that I could need
Someone as much as I need you
I LOVE YOU

 

 

Monolith

Monolith

At the foot of a northern pylon of the Harbour Bridge
I have kept my vigil since the mighty span was built.
I come early in the day from worn-out corners of the area
and sit when the sun is out until the waning afternoon,
thence to another role, another manifestation of duty.
On my way I pass a cavern echoing with traffic noise.
When the sun is setting it blazes up like a testing tunnel
of the cosmic fire at the beginning and ending of universes.
It reminds me we are not that far in time from a kalpa’s ending.
More than four thousand million years in the lives
of the starry and the planetary entities
who influence us and are never truly seen.
At the pylon’s base I meet with seeming fools and sages,
more of the former, alas, but it was ever the same
at the other Thebes. The great towering stone columns could fittingly house
the troglodytic priests and harbour an inward turning flame
in bifurcated flowering for the known and unknown god
and my own dilapidated dispensation.
The only way the scene differs now
is in the lack of overt piety,
the thinning out of conscious pilgrims passing by me
here upon the seasonally withered grass. 

Winter Memories

By Mihran Kalaydjian, CHA

Consultant, Strategist, and Writer

Image

Within the circuit of this plodding life
There enter moments of an azure hue,
Untarnished fair as is the violet
Or anemone, when the spring stew them
By some meandering rivulet, which make
The best philosophy untrue that aims
But to console man for his grievences.
I have remembered when the winter came,
High in my chamber in the frosty nights,
When in the still light of the cheerful moon,
On the every twig and rail and jutting spout,
The icy spears were adding to their length
Against the arrows of the coming sun,
How in the shimmering noon of winter past
Some unrecorded beam slanted across
The upland pastures where the Johnwort grew;
Or heard, amid the verdure of my mind,
The bee’s long smothered hum, on the blue flag
Loitering amidst the mead; or busy rill,
Which now through all its course stands still and dumb
Its own memorial, – purling at its play
Along the slopes, and through the meadows next,
Until its youthful sound was hushed at last
In the staid current of the lowland stream;
Or seen the furrows shine but late upturned,
And where the fieldfare followed in the rear,
When all the fields around lay bound and hoar
Beneath a thick integument of snow.
So by God’s cheap economy made rich
To go upon my winter’s task again.