Ronaye Hudyma

Ronaye Hudyma's lifelong career was in the entertainment business, as a solo performer in the medium of stage, television, and nightclubs across North America, the Orient and beyond. including a command performance for the Prime Minister of Canada and tours of Japan, Sri Lanka, Hong Kong, Acapulco and Mexico City.



When the Seasons are measured on my face and settle across my brow,

and the rattling bones of Winter moan with bent and broken boughs,

When its final breath and hoary death is a shroud hanging o'er my eyes,

You shall not fade. The masquerade is... only the form will die.

When Autumn looms, confetti colored leaves start turning brown

in a grand ballet—their fated way of returning to the ground.

 In the journey back from whence they came--a secret lies therein--

You shall not fade. You always were and will be once again.

On zephyr breeze, the yawning buds will herald the coming Spring

with butterflies and buttercups and mountain streams that sing.

For eyes to see and ears to hear, lies the secret of all forms--

You shall not fade. Within the seed you are the yet unborn.

Summer smiles on fields of daisies laughing in its face

trying to outrun the sun, but destiny awaits.

What comes along, will also go within a world of change.

You shall not fade. You always are, and you alone remain.


How many centuries in a day?
Quiet anguish on English Bay.
I watched the sea rush to the shore, like you rushed to her,
'til I could watch no more.
I saw you look like lovers do--like when it's me that's holding you.
In a moment of eternity, you glanced, then turned  away from me
and through the salty stream that stung my eyes,
I saw you mouth the word “goodbye”.
The wind blew a requiem, then held its breath
as the sea grew still and I fell to its depth.
Falling deeper upon itself, it said I AM within myself. 
I left you where I died that day....
with the empty seashells on English Bay.


Buried in the rubble underneath my feet,

Coming out of silence, a heart still beat.

Time is not forever. We came apart, then came together.

Not unlike Lovers, the rain and pavement meet.

Pages from the book of memories crumble in my hand.

Wastelands of my mind's estate I dare not understand.

Time slips through my fingers, yet your face will linger

'Til all that ever was becomes a humble grain of sand.

Rising from the darkness of a dream rich night

with watchful eyes awake now, welcoming the light.

No, there are no answers. We were only dancers

moving to the rhythm in the dance of Life.


Happiness hung
on my lips as I traced your mouth with mine,
On my fingers tips loving thine own;
Happiness hung
on the breath of a moment,
still delicate with the dust of yesterday's dream.


You knew me by heart, by Braille's touch,

by artist's palette, and painter's brush

that colored you in crimson hues
when want was warm upon you.
You were the singer—I the song

guided by the Maestro's baton
like Starbursts in the Universe,

the music warm upon you.


  The prelude begins

  descending in adagio,

  dusting bare heads of trees who

     stand as do a choir of novice nuns

     humbly receiving their celestial habits;

  Falling flakes of visual melody,

  sifting through bony fingers of trees who

    stand as do a clan of cloistered monks,

    palms outstretched  in prayer

    receiving holy communion.


  And the music plays on into the night--

    notes dropped from the unwritten score of the sky,

  filling the air with too familiar strains for the ears

    of an aged earth.



  Pure in deed as in color,

  A soundless cadence

  sent to quiet the land and the hearts of men.




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