“Stealing My Wish”

January 2 2025

Joe Silva Writes English Poems, Poems & Prose Coin, Fountain, Moscow, Spell, Thief, Well, Wish 0

Is he stealing my wish? No, he can’t be. My wish was probably stolen long ago. Perhaps I’ll never know. Wait! Maybe my wish is still there. What if my special coin became invisible, and froze in midair? Yes! That’s it! It must be some kind of spell.

My mother was very clear. She gave me the coin, and asked that I make my wish at her small town wishing well. What have I done? Am I dreaming? Why do I feel that all of this can be undone? What is happening right now? Why did a stranger tell me to enjoy Moscow?

I’m so confused. My mother never mentioned a thing about a spell. I do know that since making my wish at this fountain, I have not been sleeping well. Seeking a solution, and hoping to wish away my confusion, I sit by this wishing fountain every day. Here, I feed birds, meditate, and I sometimes pray.

I witness people toss in their coins, and I cant’t help wonder if they are wishing for their sadness and pain to go away. Was this my mother’s wish? Is this why she liked to pray? To migrate to the states, do people know the price my mother had to pay?

I must be dreaming, for I ran into the stranger once again. He confessed that for fun, he steals coins from the wishing fountain. He reminded me about Moscow, and told me he was sent by someone I know. If I was confused before, you can imagine how I must feel now.

Upon waking, I heard a noise by my bedroom door. It was my special coin. Out of nowhere, it had dropped to the floor. Is he stealing my wish? If I once thought so, I don’t any more. Did my mother send the stranger? Did he break the spell? What he hell? Clearly, the time come to visit my mother’s small town wishing well.

Poemas En Español, Poems & Prose

“Yo No Soy”

Yo no soy la persona que quieres que sea. Yo no soy aquel que vive para complacer a la gente. No, yo no soy aquel que permite que la negatividad de otros, contamine mi mente. No, yo no soy como el hombre que en ocaciones, se te pone en frente.

No, yo no soy como él. En descubrir ese hecho, quizás me tardé un poco. Mientras otros me juzgaban de loco, tu, de mi comportamiento te reías, y en mis actos de bondad no creías. No, yo no soy aquel que se deja llevar por la multitud, ni el que perturba su vida con tonterías. No, ese hombre, yo no soy.

No pierdo el tiempo ni gasto dinero buscando la moda de hoy. No, ese hombre, yo no soy. A temprana edad, de la vida aprendí un detalle importante. Por si aún no lo sabes, te lo digo en este escrito. Es imposible complacer a todos. Si aprendes a complacer a Dios, te darás cuenta de lo que en verdad es bonito.

Poemas En Español, Poems & Prose

“No Es Necesario”

Lo que en esta vida has aprendido, por todo lo que has sufrido, no es necesario contarlo a le gente. No. Para crecer como mujer, eso no es necesario. Basta con que tu lo sepas. Si sientes la necedad de contar tus logros, con letras, cuéntaselos a tu diario.

English Poems, Poems & Prose

“I Still Smile”

I still smile. Oh, yes! I still do. I’ve been through some tough times. I have seen things I would like to forget, but through it all, I still smile. If you have the time to listen, I can tell you everything I saw and felt during every single mile. No you say? That’s okay. Papa George listened when he decided to bring me his way.

I still wonder if he ever got tired of listening to my stories. Did he believe they were all simply made up allegories? I vividly remember when for the last time, I told him of the many miles I have traveled transporting young boys to reformatories. I was eager to tell Papa George about Birdie and George, but he never came back. As time passed, I was afraid I would end up abandoned in the old shack.

I must have passed out, for I don’t know how I got here, or who let me out. My surroundings are strange, the sunlight feels different, yet my smile is the same. Is my age bringing me unwanted fame? I don’t seek it, but my appearance seems to attract attention. Did I cross over into a different dimension? I must have. The cars here are much stronger than I, they bathe daily, and are amazed at my simple suspension.

Recently, I was approached by an interesting stranger who looked me over as if I was some weird relic. His presence was strong, and it somehow felt angelic. So much so that I proceeded to tell him the story about Birdie and George. He seemed eager and willing to listen, so I started by telling him about the treaty they both had to forge.

Oh, how I wish I could have told Papa George. I know he would have understood, for he knew these two troubled youngsters from the hood. No matter how much they tried, they could never catch a break. Hardworking and honest, their good deeds were always criticized, and written off as fraudulent and fake.

I transported them both to prison, where they turned themselves in. For what you ask? They witnessed a crime, and they both told the truth. Yet once again, they were written off as fraudulent and fake. They vowed never to change their story, even knowing their lives were at stake. Papa George would have understood. He knew these two boys. They were good kids, and they would sometimes ride with him to the lake.

“Stealing My Wish”