All copyrights by Ronaye Hudyma. All rights reserved

No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication

may be made without written permission.

No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced,

copied or transmitted save with the written permission of the publisher, or in accordance with the provisions

of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended).

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It’s gentle, warm–like you were;

But it’s not the same rain enfolding me,

touching my face…like you did–

your arms holding up the sky.

Soon, it will stop in mid-air…like we did.


My face is not the same face you once adored;

and it’s not the same place around which our lives revolved

 —nary a trace of us there anymore.

For the tyranny of Time did exact its toll

leaving us star-crossed, love lost     

never to be restored.


Our fiery tale never had a chance to burn itself out.

Laid waste, we were sacrificed, scorched

and consumed on a bed of coals

smoldering in the ashes;

dying in the embers.

With a bolt of thunder, a jealous Zeus did wreak his ire and wrath upon us

in a curse of eternal youth.

There would never be a future. There would only be the past. 

We would never grow up or old.

You remain there: sinews taut, strong, self assured. Always a memory.


I could sense you before I saw you

and when I did, you were all that ever was;

drawing me to you, loving me urgently,

with abandon.

And the last time was like the first time.

You were always the moment– for to leave it meant leaving you. Like now


It’s a gentle rain, warm..touching my face.

Soon it will stop. Like we did.





Move closer to me. Nearer still.

Tell me again–the same words you spoke as you lay in my arms,

when last I woke to find you there. 

How sweet the song– 

a melody in whispered tones.

The heavens smiled and harmonized

as I looked into and through your eyes  

listening to the lullaby of the rain.

I need nothing else.  Just this.

No next kiss, no reassurance to dream by. 

If Life had no other merit that even Sages

throughout the ages could not comprehend–

confounding their senses, addling their brains–

it would be this:

You in my arms and the lullaby of the rain.



All was not lost;

even though  

there was no sky for birds to fly into–

just invisible space swallowing the blue;

And nightingales without a song         

sang off-key because you were gone.

As darkness stuttered into day

the moon turned its back, the sun looked away.


 I didn’t think that I could live… But I did.

A broken heart cannot forgive… But it did.

Our  memories blurred into the past

seasoned with scars and stains–they, too, will pass.


And what of Love? Where did it go?

It’s that invisible space from which all things flow

that interprets what and how you see; 

within you, within me

that colors what and how you view,

determines what you’re looking through.      


The sky returned, shocked into blue

with endless space which birds flew through.

Nightingales sang, with moon and stars….

because I AM, because YOU ARE.




How many heart beats did it take for me to find you?

The sea was lost in search of the shore,

wandering with no direction…until there was you;

When permanent gray yielded to the perpetual blue in your eyes

as the clouds broke apart to make room for your smile

and the winds deferred to you, moving around you;

When rivers splashed against their banks, overflowing, giving thanks.

 How many heart beats did we have left?

Our hearts merged and raced ahead to save our place for one more tomorrow, 

that every beat and word you speak, another day would break

and the sun could hardly wait to light up your face.

Just one more night.

As stars converge around your hair,

Let me be there.


How many heart beats did we squander,

never to retrieve?

When Time crawled in on hands and knees –separating us, dividing us,

’til our one heart beat no more.

The sky opened up, the clocks wound down–

and the cry of gulls mimicked mine.




From a spark in the dark, this world exists

as someone’s last breath, or another’s first kiss.

Another story to be told, another day as years unfold

when forever-young starts growing old,

What will you learn?


The ebb and flow that came and went, 

through Seasons of your discontent

with wrack and ruin of despair, 

upended dreams no longer there 

that shouldn’t die, couldn’t fail;

but, alas, strong bones will soon be frail.

What did you learn?


Did you do what you were told just to appease them?

Be what it was they wanted? You believed them 

to finally find a place where you belong

Then, when you thought you had it–not for long.

Your unfulfillment never leaves. 

It stalks and haunts, without reprieve.

Close at hand–near or far; wherever you go…there you are.

An inner peace eluded you, and Time, how it  deluded you;

for nothing lingers, nothing lasts–

your future replicates the past.

Did you doze through your entire  life,  

 or through the dark, become the light?

What did you learn?


 Speak softly when you talk. Your path is strewn along the way 

with every deed and word you say. 

Choose wisely as you walk. With every step and choice you make

 is why you’re here–to be awake. 


It was never meant to end like this.

You weren’t aware that you exist.

With the last verse of your last song,

your little self and history– gone!

If all you knew and nothing else

was only but your surface self; 

If nothing changed, then what remains 

will want to do it all again.

Or did you learn the secret that was always there?

Return to Source, return to Home–this time aware.

ronaye from daryl to edit


I was pulled into a dream,

drawn into the vortex,

tossed, churned, and consumed by the winds of fire

that brought me to my knees.

It was the same dream.

You were there      

doing what you usually do,

saying the things you usually say.  

Promises of pleasure lure me like a Siren’s song

toward the reefs that tear my heart to pieces.

Your crimson touch, passion’s blush scalds my skin 

yet I come to you at my peril, ignoring all the scars–

emerging with burnt hands, scorched and blackened lips.

I never opened my eyes as I lay in your arms 

drowning in a flood of memories.

The same memories that batter me against the rocks with beautiful sadness.

It was only a dream. Wasn’t it?




Hello, moon.

Yes, he’s gone–light-years away by now.

You were snuffed out,

threatened with extinction,

extinguished like a candle flame

and disappeared under the black robe of unbearable night.

Wasn’t it me who said loving him was never having loved before?

Wasn’t it he who professed it was impossible to love me more?

There are no stars to get my bearings.

I am lost.

The minutes turn into hours

and every hour becomes another day that he stays away.

My arms cannot grasp the vacuum.

O moon, Help me!

Light the way that I may see.





My body knows no other voice like yours.

Speak to me and your words are released

like carrier pigeons on the wing,

through the air, across the telephone wire

into my heart.


Fill my ears

that I may hear the resonance of you 

translating into touches.

They know you no other way.


Or say nothing at all. 

No more need be said.

Your every word remains articulate upon me,

crafted and composed, etched into permanence

as a dance or the Mona Lisa–

a gallery of memories

to be revived and unfurled.

Speak to me.




The sun blinks…yawns, then rises

as the moon falls to earth–a dying rose before the last petal drops–

passing the torch to another day.

The eyes of Earth open

giving witness as Life moves in and out

…arises, subsides

as bird, leaf, butterfly,

the lowly rock, robin, human;

exalted or reviled. 

The One becomes the many and masquerades as form,

each thread weaving a tapestry of existence.

Interconnected. Vanishing. Replenished.

Chariots of shooting stars spin across the night sky

into the Cosmos

between the planets, beyond galaxies.

A glowing halo of conscious space is awakening

becoming aware of itself.

The “I” of Infinity…..

through You.


POEMS by Ronaye Hudyma


130 poems will be removed for public view because they are in my upcoming book “…with a broken wing.” The new ones will continue to be displayed for your enjoyment.

Copyright © Ronaye Hudyma 2017

The right of Ronaye Hudyma to be identified as author of

this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All Rights Reserved

No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication

may be made without written permission.

No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced,

copied or transmitted save with the written permission of the publisher, or in accordance with the provisions

of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended).

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to

this publication may be liable to criminal

prosecution and civil claims for damage.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is

available from the British Library.

ISBN: 978-1-84897-991-8

This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, places and incidents originate from the writer’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

First Published in 2017

Olympia Publishers

60 Cannon Street



Printed in Great Britain



Ye who come here;

As you peruse these pages,

view them as riding an Express Train through Time–

the same train we are all on.

When the train stops

and the Conductor turns around to tell you:

“This is where you get off”,

it doesn’t matter if you are riding first class or coach.

When your journey ends….

will you know who you truly are?





 I am a firefly’s wings;

translucent in the night

transparent by day.

A will-o’-the-wisp

–the spirit of a dead dream

wandering the earth in search of you

to lead you toward your destiny.

You lost your way and  I follow you

to return the treasure that once was yours. 



Out of the innocence of night

in the quiet of contentment,

I come to you with a trust unclothed

and sentiment unguarded.

I come with humility and respect

with wonder, yet understanding.

I come with my need written on my heart

yet with my offerings eagerly extended.

I shall never mask or misuse your sensitivity

nor exploit your sympathies.

We love so easily, we do

for you are Love, magnanimous and mine.



Through sorrow one learns joy,

learns to treasure her when graced by her visit,

for the stay is always too brief.

Through sadness,

the memories of you have become sweeter

when reveling in distant luxuries.

Through words that interpret a magnitude of

meanings and messages,

mine say, “Please remember me.”

Owner of this heart set a beating,

If you in the slightest doubt my sincerity

need you but see the image reflected by my mirror

as I remember you.


Love, have I always known you?
Love, will I ever own you?
Love, will we ever meet again?
When was the promise made
forgotten, but still obeyed
–a vow to forever love again?

You’re a dream in my mind
from the whispering of time,
A call from a sad memory.
While I answer your prayer
are you listening somewhere and waiting for me
While I look into every face
And search for you everyplace
But stumble on strangers on the way?
Love, have you always been there?
Love, can you lead me to there?
Love, you’re eternity away.
You’re a dream in my mind
from the whispering of time
A call from a sad memory.
While I answer your prayer
Are you listening somewhere
And waiting for me?
My love, have I always known you?
Love, will I ever own you?
Love, I’ll return, this time to stay.





Acerbic  words sting,

 assail the air;

hurled  like a dagger with a jab to the heart. 

Fatal blows swift and sure catch me by surprise…     

I cannot breathe.                           

Your barbed tongue maims,

slices  through the tender threads of trust and        

when the curtain falls, you feel nothing. 

Of course.

I was fodder for your senses, consumed then forgotten

No investment. No expense.

Being without me is a reprieve, a temporary Fast — no snacks, no sugar.

Yet you to me were love without restraint

 sustenance for the soul

and the bonds that did bind me were not of chains–

 but a river of ribbons flowing throughout my existence.

After a taste of the Infinite,

being without you  is death by starvation.

Now Both of us are confined to our corners

of opposite sides

where never the two shall meet.



 The sun sulks, eclipsed,

 denying us another day.

In a series of silent nights,

a fluorescent moon hovers overhead, 

our eye in the sky…


then blown aside by winds of ire

from stirring Giant on high.    


Timid raindrops crawl across a telephone wire

like cautious children anticipating a slide…


as the heavens unfold pounding its wrath upon us– 

angry thunder in rolling arpeggios

storms down with vengeance.


It took thousands of years

for the universe to arrange for us to meet by chance

–a chance of a lifetime;

Then a lifetime of chances

squandered by our witless folly and misdeeds.

Unrealized. Unfulfilled–

Callow youth and shallow beauty

fading into senescence and sleep. 


The city mourns.  Autumn tolls for her dead.

Summer has been slain–

her fruits lay lifeless, deserted in decay.

Soon Winter shall come to cover and conceal

silently effacing all traces that we ever were.



The ambrosial choke of smoke                       

lured me to its lair and touched me.

Our skin lit like tinder–
burnt hands, singed fingers,


Familiar coals once flamboyant in gaudy performance

now lie low with Love’s lament.  Spent.

Dying embers in empathy with the flesh,

yet iced still your impenetrable heart.



In a single moment,

life ripped apart the last visage of illusion

from my mind;

tearing away the memories that I viewed through,

everything I belonged to…desperately held onto.

I have been painting a portrait of existence; 

Each brush stroke filled with the pigment of significance,

masking what was really there.

Behind the window dressing,

reality is laid  bare–

an empty space of naked seeing.

Just Being.

How does it feel?

Quiet. Vacant. Still.



I heard  you speak the word…married.

My mind froze. My heart stopped.

I couldn’t  breathe as it entered my body 

cutting out the space where you used to be.

Gutted. Eviscerated.

Excised with no anesthetic.

Will it still be there tomorrow?

There is no tomorrow.

I didn’t die, but we did;

taking time away with no reprieve of the past,

leaving me disfigured, severed.

Like the last time.

Love no longer has your face or body 

to invade my dreams.

Now your memory has a fence around it. An inner: No!

Irreparably, it cannot be otherwise; because it is.

It already is.



Coming soon – The upcoming release of Ronaye’s  book by British publisher in London, England; to be available on Amazon.


                 …with a broken wing
Expressions of
the Human Spirit

poems by Ronaye Hudyma


Whether contemporary, classic, or peppered with Elizabethan eloquence, this profound ensemble of 130 poems is not stationary. They move as if conducted with a maestro’s baton –fluid between the euphoria of life and love, the drama, the anguish of death and loss, with every nuance of human emotion spilling upon the pages.

They are poignant words written with the transparency of youth, gathering maturity and experience, evolving to wisdom, into the spiritual realm.

This is not just poetry. There are a million stories in each poem. Once for each of us. From the teenager discovering their individuality, the young adult challenged by relationships and the world around them, to the Elder denizens of Earth, who cherish their memories as veterans of life, this is a book to be read and reread, a keepsake to console, embrace and affirm your recognition of the truth within yourself that is already there.




 You move across the edges of my mind–

a Revenant, remnant and visitant of an old haunt

hoping to taunt me,  

detouring past the perimeters that say do not resuscitate

past the memories barricaded with barbed wire

and the heart held in abeyance, throbbing its last beat.  

With quiet stealth, you stand there,

the sleuth in search of a crevice through which to crawl

–a new wound or an old scar–

 and  I watch you. 


When I saw you coming for me down a well-worn path,

I stepped aside and let you pass–

You cannot hurt my feelings.

There are no feelings to hurt,

for I am transparent

divested of the burden and baggage that kept me in bondage.

Those persuasive words enticing me to follow you

 never reached me, going through me– 

dead on arrival.

big mouth bird 2

Photograph by Ronaye Hudyma



 I see your picture looking like you never did,

the signature of Time written upon you

with invisible hands and fingerprints–

its silent footprints treading across your face.


Someone else is on your arm,

someone new hanging on,

adding to another page of  history.            

No, you’ll never find me there. Not a trace anywhere,

Disappeared out of sight, out of mind…into a thought.

One thought tells me what I feel,

another one confirms it’s real;

telling me how much I hurt–several thoughts make it worse.


Thinking of you lets you live.

Without a thought, you don’t exist.

You never did, you never will

unless… resurrected and revived,

I keep you alive in a thought.


Words from the wise somersault across your tongue

and tumble from your mouth in an acrobatic feat–

well rehearsed and memorized.

But beyond the script and crafted speech 

I cannot sense what lies beneath.

So, it’s best to let some things go

and let other things die.


Silly girl, love’s a game that only grownups play.

Silly girl, you never learned to act your age.

Only children still believe in fairy tales–that fairy tale that he loved you.

Silly boy, telling stories that were only lies.

Silly boy kissed all the girls and made you cry.

Even children don’t believe that hearts are toys.

That silly boy broke yours.

You were something to play with, silly lady.

Easy as taking candy from a baby.

You meant nothing to him so stop pretending.

Silly girl, you still believe in happy endings.

In your world of wishing wells and fantasy

Love is real although it’s only make-believe.

Every child has growing pains. It’s part of just

Growing up, silly girl.


Mom's of dad along the beach

Photography: my mother, Anastasia Hudyma. Man on the beach: my father, Nicolai Hudyma


The further I delve into the essence of being,

the farther I slip out of radius from those that only seek the obvious.

The farther I penetrate,

the broader my perspective.

I cannot be content with the satisfaction of apparent needs;

I must look past and through.

Though I climb alone, still must I strive without hesitation, without the delays of my own insecurities.

I must not stifle my ascent with needless fears or uncertainties. Each realization is an awakening.

It is the “Ego-I” that one must annihilate,

for this alone is the element that obstructs the flow of liberation. No body, no circumstance, no object—it is the Ego-I,

the false facsimile of justification.

Sincerity must apply to every facet of my existence.

I must think, speak, act with truth.

It is the choice.