The wind is calling me to open the only window there is left from yesterday’s ruin. HOPE.
Yes, that’s where I’d like to begin.
The wind is calling me to open the only window there is left from yesterday’s ruin. HOPE.
Yes, that’s where I’d like to begin.
I hate to leave a draft on my table
On a hectic day or
On a profound night
I thought somehow
I could ease his pain
For marrying a writer
Who does donut talks before
She goes for an all day’s work
I’m sorry my sweetest draft
But I promise I’ll be back
To roll back the dice
And pen those strong words again..
You’ll never have to wait
We stopped by the sea
When our calloused feet gave up
Then we sat and sighed.
Glimpsing the ripples of history, sensing the changes overtaking the world, never entertaining fantasies of omnipotence or martyrdom
If only by wearing mirror -shades ironically, and sniggering like some post-modern harlots, I’d love to be confronted with an impossibility.
However, each fallen glass no matter, illuminates one and the others to remind ourselves of that frayed edge lapped by judgment.
She is an amateur
The kind that blows your head off
When she struggles to do the right thing in extreme circumstances
Whether through a stained glass window
Or through a telecine sample,
She touches lives in ways that even her is ignorant of.
HE is a mix of complex-allusion, wry humor, minute-detail, populist form, serious content and figurative-narrative elements.
HE burns me with his big ideas and unusual structures that proliferate, rushing like the dizzying waters of a fall claiming me, throwing up patterns and resonances.
stood one leg on a stone
Arms stretched far apart
Arching body to hold gravity
But God’s finger picking
Made me stand again
There I found my balance.
A cross between pink and white
your hands sing as a wind chime
this skin that yells one bit
of soul from the swift & tender
prints & pores where Eva’s beauty
feel the thin fringes & darkened
curves on its tiny cracks
as you string along the veins for
that so called touch—
let me drink your sweat.
Fingers are like twigs
Lightweight and bronzed
That reach two extreme poles
Awaiting light rays
Of goodbyes and new beginnings
Suspended waving nothing
In the air but
Dead points and humidity
To touch is to rob the Holy grail
Out of the wilderness
Like your fingers.
Eyes that gape at you
Basking in every t-shirt you always
Your hairy chest I’d like to hide
Not minding the time.
You smell awful that’s what they say
That I never once believed.
Wednesdays and Sundays are but a favourite
For your hair gets thrice as blacker after it’s ran by water.
Who’d think I’m crazy for you
I never met your daring eyes, never bump nose to nose, or stand on two feet inside yours
Guess there are reasons why
Everytime I ignore you
Your hard stare and dark brows
Silently with half a smile.
Was it yesterday when you wore those
Pair of faded blue jeans?
Melting my knees with your incomparable looks.
This one-sided affection and presumptive heart don’t
Want any more ploy and toy
That smile that voice that brain and air cool are
Too much for an encouragement.
Being around you is a lost love I’d like to keep
Bizarre, surreal no further than
I mourn the days that turn green leaves to brown.
Changing one after one
Bares the heart-piercing
My mistaken identity.
So where do I stand in all this?
Truly I don’t want to answer..
As long as I have you
Near and far
In this demanding cell
I’ll not fail in this tremendous tale.
Like the nightingale so
Perpetual; it’s my sworn duty.
This silly mind wishes you’d blackmail me,
Push me to a dead-end to make me confess
How this heart never wants
Another man other than you.
But until then
It’s my secret, Darling.
Like a moon,
My heart flutters without notice.
Tonight, I’ll see you with yellow eyes and a broken smile.
Today I met an old friend from a land 58 light years away
Like an alien he started talking moving his eyes from side to side
He was so charged up I couldn’t blame
He just came back from an illness he sure tried to mend
My palm held my heart as usual it wanted to come out dry
Jump to his so I excused my self and thought what I did was right
I wanted an embrace but my tongue twisted like vines as if some vinegar was poured
Hell I could cry for missing an old friend whom I dreamt was mine
Words from the wind’s contractor, pictures of the guardian’s den, memories of the river, tales of his tears
I’d like one from his mouth so much that my heart’s in despair
To my old friend whom others tried to deduce
My feelings are there but it’s vessel never breaks a spell
Once it’s broken consider it sold.
You came back my friend..
I wish he’d contact me like the first time.
But I know him so well.
He wouldn’t give me the satisfaction.
I wonder if that would make any difference.
Don’t just stand there mystified
By the morning dew from last night’s
Plummeting string of rain.
Don’t just stand there doubting your own pain because it’s real and
No one is to blame.
The decision you made comes like the small plastic wrapper that remains afloat in canal waters even after it’s washed by rain.
Don’t just stand there praying to God to solve the chaos you’re in
Might as well assign them yourself and let Him rest from your sins.
Sins lie in wait in a bowl of dried apples and oranges aged by filthy wind and blasphemy.
The house in yellow sulfur is filled with death it seems no one cared
No plants and lights, windows cracked and broken, voices only echoed from lost people, the long chairs across the wine bar are empty, webby never cushiony.
Souls have housed in its darkness the place is haunted now you should leave.
Don’t just stand there hoping it’s only a dream. That the stars you see beyond the hole of the kitchen roof are real.
They’re not so don’t try to sew them like some puzzle pieces they are only meant
To keep you and make you dark as well.
Dream a little dream of him somewhere clean and clear it’s not helpful when you’re under some evil spell.
Escape all you want but don’t mind the house’s tale you’re not a priestess in a book’s occult fair.
Think about your family their warm smiles and lovely gazes to fight against
This monster craze.
Don’t just stand there I don’t want you there
Move your fingers, blink your eyes and shout all you can
Wake up from the nightmare and leave depression that’s all there is to say.
I wake up at six in the morning only to sigh deeply.
My body moves slowly it does not seem to get out of the bed how lonely
It is when the arms of the sun reach out for your eyes every day it appears
The excitement has gone somewhere you’d wish it’s gone forever in your smile.
You look at the window and pray it’s dark –not wanting to bathe and have breakfast.
I don’t want to work it kills me as if I already know the scent of love beyond the flower field
The door likes to tempt I feel some issues are there waiting like soldiers outside they choke me so
I go out and take a walk then stand in front of the roses and white lilies to
Light a cigarette and smoke I don’t want to work, have dinner and work even
If it makes me fortunate like what others say because my heart is not there
To tango with the music the office is playing for me.
I don’t want to work I only want to smoke and smoke because my life’s so full of mud
It’s hard to get along, Amado mio.
What happens to people who give up on love?
I’ve seen some.
And many have said they were miserable.
I thought about it.
And it left me wondering
if I was…
Sometimes, words are infernal.
Because you don’t love me I have myself talked to a stuffed teddy bear at night when my sadness becomes my new lingerie
This stuffed animal sits on the edge of my bed with melting eyes as it cheers me
All because you don’t listen to my drunken speech about you who never loves me
Makes me speak to a lifeless friend and sometimes
Teaches me fight like that of a UFC warrior to which I’m not sure I’d win against the oddities this life serves me
Along with the curve gaffes and wind breakers
How I want you never gaze at the darkness behind the black curtain
Takes me to the spot with my teddy bear and cry humanly on its lap
Because you never capture my deck of subjectivity in an era of probability.
This man of noble blood hears the sound her nose makes
He follows through to examine who
Dwells behind the wall no one touches to know
Beyond the front wall of two walls
He gets curious his gentleness pushes him through
There he sees a woman of ruined spirit
Cries her loudest
The loudest inside her heart
No one hears
Who’d ever dare listen to
But this man’s different
From the groups and institutions in the real world she knows
He holds deep values that
Breaks down her every reason
And a pool of emotion she desperately
Wants to link her arms around without being disillusioned and judged.
Hiding under the red snow
Flattened to sleep like the polar bears
I wish to steal that tempestuous voice
To heal away his sadness
That makes him morbid always
Always trekking the hills lonely
moving further away from me
Like a sloth.
I need not involve myself
He said but so lame for me
What could be done?
So I’ll not sink farthest
from the sea bed
So distant I could only
Drop a coin to the heavens.
His words are not at all soothing
To the ears that only hear depressing words
If waking up would be this eventful,
Nothing can be saved from his mouth that kills and kills–
Hi, how are you? How long has it been? Two, three weeks? You’ve been very silent, I’m afraid.
Your silence makes me wonder but mostly analytical.
I wonder if you’ve thought about writing me a letter but was scared to send them.
I wonder if you’ve tried talking to me when our feet crossed.
I wonder if such silence means something.
If you don’t mind leaving a word on my doorstep..
so this hand of mine won’t lose its grip on that doorknob.
Before I take your silence as goodbye,
Dearest, come quickly.
Like a slinky played by the angels
We wriggled and wiggled like two fattened marshmallows
a love created by mere coincidence ruined by tragedy. The same love that fled from twenty years ago. So love scattered like the dust that covered the sea the same love reflected towards the sky. It’s hard to tell whether you’re still on my side now that we’ve both become awry in love. Believing in fate was no less than plucking butterfly wings and blowing them off aimlessly. Strangers we are in each other’s eyes as we both have lonely lives. Yes, just like strangers without you my love.
We’ve reached this level.
A certain level of clarity.
I saw quite a lot last festival.
My intuition tells me, It’s the other girl you’re interested in and not me.
It’s Christmas and it feels like ” well, it’s about time I move on.”
Good girls cry, bad girls fight but a woman who gets the gist simply carries on.
Really it’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.
I don’t think it’s a total negative though.
To always have a copy of our exchanged messages.
Whether we cease to believe in them or not
review them or not
Or just mull over them ..
Knowing that it’s a heartache and that it’ll only give us a heartbreak,
in the simplest corner of my heart, somehow,
that tiny cup of happiness exists.
I swallowed so much of your space that even the dust of your small corner wanted to dust me off as well. I was afraid…
A woman’s character hides in the depths of a clear sheet. It doesn’t force itself to come out until she wears her red lipstick.
One of my favorites is grating my bones for pulverized minerals, make blood dance in a sieve as if they’ve got a life of their own. Then, let alone taste them.
Diverse in thoughts and in motivation. Nothing is legal unless agreed upon. Whether internal or external, it’s never late for that to matter. Translated in life’s bare pantomime. Of suspicious intention and adulterated resolution til it taps down the heart’s karmic manifestation.
Kinesthetic and chemistry may vary —
Sure, you’d care less or be driven for more.
The human mind is such a strange country.
As it functions: call it freewill, freedom or simply Sunday.
Let words run away from your mouth with great ease and immense conviction. Trace them with pain and dress them up from delirium. When you find the strength to spill all fuels and spread all cement in all fours, you know you’ve graduated from depression and literal nothingness.
Called to wait you at the bus station. You never came and I cried in the cruelest bus station. Like a child orphaned with trust and hope. You married the girl named heaven and forgot my name now dwells in oblivion. I held on to the line that screamed ” I promise you day by day we’ll hold hands.” And in my dreams I was downtrodden, insane and guilty of the longing buried in the deepest. How to please you once became my goal so I toiled, toiled and toiled the soil. I was happy but you weren’t–who blamed me for all the lies and deceit. Don’t kiss me to start marking your territory. This life no longer threads in your pity. Even if your mouth’s open no, I’ll kill it. This I go without the thought of you to never be fooled for a year or so.
Why do you hold so much influence in me? Over my life?
In my head it’s clear we are done.
Would you be generous enough to just leave me in peace?
I can’t understand why you still keep me up side down…
I want healing.
Stop harming me.
That’s more than enough.
Roses have thorns to protect themselves from harm. I used to be that rose too. All red and a beauty.
Now, I have made myself the thorn. So whoever cuts and takes a piece of me will bleed.
Your random visits are not welcome.
I feel like a bird with a broken wing and a questioning head
Each day I work to impress you with my tale and flapping paper wings.
Don’t confuse me with your
I need some time recuperating
Perhaps a day in Paris and an exciting window shopping
To do away with the cufflinks.
And make way
For my paper wings.
Danes, you’ve drunk too much caffeine
Now your mind’s everywhere
It crawls down to your spring bed
Then jumps off the window in
A tranquilizer for a good night’s sleep
But none was fine indeed
No medicaments for the torture
Your brain can contain turbid
Images like whirlpool
Danes, Danes I wonder if you know
Worms are seeking for your weakness
They mean drowning you in defeat
Hype you up in panic
Irritable and anxious in a space
Where there’s nothing called a
Danes, Danes cover your ears
And don’t hear their sins
Whispers at the back of your lobes
Sending you dangerous roars
Danes see the warning sign
That calls for a red alert
It’s the panic attack that kills.
with your hands rubbing a single black coin
and a 3D wish before the coin is slid into
your secret pocket
burns the fabric and creates a hole
as big as that of the black coin
to where your fingers warp
one by one.
Next, your arm so long is drawn by the flow of a rainbow
Consider your body being dragged in–
Into that glorious fantasy where there’s no collateral for a
Reality-based drama of success and failure;
Of trial and error.
One year with unfamiliar colleagues and unknown plots, amiable faces and fancy laughs, food and dance and a strict compliance with your personal mantra and
The Imperative policy.
One year never stands still as it grows you a year wiser; stronger
til your head is sucked in by the overwhelming hole magnified in your pocket as friction heats up the fringes now
Transforming the coin to a silver nickel.
Dates and days are ephemeral and so are the memories like weather constantly changing and charging.
But no matter,
One year is always a start–
of a new jump to the abyss
To meaningful discoveries
To significant circumstances
To radiant friendships
To relevant changes
To genuine happiness.
That’s more than just surviving
A year of living as a human being.
One year with you, with us.
You’ll have a year to look back on
A day to ponder this year’s resolve.
This day makes your
It’s difficult to be with talented people. Like a bird they choose when and where they want to perch and leave the nest whenever and however they desire..
If my lover were food,
Hung fully on a ratan basket
I’d take no preservatives.
Whether they were imported from China, America, Japan, UK, Spain, Latin or locally made
I’d gladly take them in and make no mistake
Call his nourishment a charm
Beneath my skin and intestines
I’d call it nothing else but
Before I was satisfied with the prestige brought by writing a couplet then I learned about haiku and loving its 5-7-5 lines as much as the first.
When I met you, various collections of Russian novels and southern poems I wanted to touch and read. Whether they’d be in prose, in episodes or in a grand narrative. Words to adorn you while you sleep. For how many versions, sure. I’d love to. When you looked at that spot near your city forming a triangle as you spent a good 10 minute stare at it from your Godparents’ condo, I didn’t know how engrossing that moment could be. Or when you walked out on the quite sidewalks and started reminiscing precious times around town, I’d trade any of my possession to write about that. How you opened a beer in my honor after we shared petty stories. And while you drove your Dad interestingly, I thought about more words to put that scene in a clear-cut poem.
I see you every time and it’s rare how consuming to find you in every word. Of course, there has to be some plots. Perhaps, plots could run like the Caucasian lad inheriting a necklace then, the necklace made him a merman. Or a series of detective plots written vividly only to find you the hero at the end part. Then, finding gold in the house of the peasants where you lived on your vacation but thought money could be destructive so you built them a school and the money for their books and their first teacher was you. Or maybe a collaborative work with different types of people doing humanitarian work in Nicaragua and in Tanzania.
Anything as in any thing.
Words just love you
as I do.
The mountains look up to the clouds waiting for a kiss on a foggy afternoon
The soil kisses the foot of the hill for a beautiful worth
Then the soil kisses everything around her the greens, yellows and reds all contain in one big halo
The bird sings to the heavens and thanks the Father for when he’s home to his nest the she-bird awaits and smacks him a kiss
The fountain overflows with water to all strangers so when they’re thirsty before they gulp first, they kiss the water for their desire to be quenched
Even the sea nourishes whoever dives in its waters for a bountiful scenery when you give your body as its own fill and be kissed
The moon and the night sky both have something so reassuring in their cosmic set up cos together they vow before the sea to be one and kiss before they light up the world at night
Your hands they clasp with another hand for a dainty lil kiss on a tiresome day
And your brain thinks about a kiss on two sweet lips before you go to bed
Then it might be wonderful to believe
” What are all these kissings if you and I won’t kiss and be bitter? “
Oh but Darling, the world never fails to teach us.
Look and let’s believe our desires to be kissed..
And let’s just kiss.
She’s twenty-five and has been in deep plots. She has a cat and talks to her every other time. Pretending her cat’s meows and innocent brush of its body to hers are a part of figures of speech,
She tries to dig out the significant meaning of its images only to realize there’s more to them than just the figures of speech but also the parts of speech.
They are on the bed on a misty Sunday afternoon. They’ve been there as if none of the chores are of so much importance. She holds the feline’s neck and touches its tag with her delicate fingertips. But the cat just looks and looks. Then meows and meows.
The cat’s brown eyes sparkle. I hope it’s not made of lead that weighs down someone’s faith and intoxicate. Oh and I heard her ask the cat. This is not really me. But I see her talk and talk. And I just can’t seem to walk and shake it off.
She holds the cat’s neck, pull it closer til its ear presses her red lips. She asks her with intense grace and might “Do you love me?” But the cat just meows and meows while she waits and waits
Like a hopeful twelve-year-old child in her puberty love rush. She couldn’t contain her agony so she holds her cat the same. And whispers to her all over again. I look at her and hear her from there. As she draws the feline closer her feelings are dragged nearer.
She whispers to the cat “Say it. Please say it.” But the cat just looks and looks then meows and meows
While she begs and begs.
They ask and keep asking
What you are to me and I to you
It sounds like another puzzle too
Of two wondrous people talking
Like that of a sweet tamarind
More naked; more scented than white spaghetti and milk sauce
However, my answer hides in my head covered by oddity and intellectual arrogance
But ok. I like the little benign traps anyway
Let me think and think it well cos
This picture is a lot bigger than the ones tapping the clean wall
You are a trailblazer in the most ingenious way with you
I feel high understanding your quirks and loving them in calculated doses
Like sand over my clothes to my face and down to my heel a pillow
Innovations and ideas roll like marbles on a tiled floor
And I am the corner that catches you when you reach the farthest
You are As open as the lines and dashes in the boardroom so
I want to connect the first tail to the last then see if I miss One
Always warm and seen in random places
Vigilant to the needs, finding solutions to challenges at hand
Unemotional and logical quite away from the Hallmark sentimentality but
Definitely glides over the magic done by the mind.
While I’m all for action, passion and war,
You are air fanning my fire, redirecting my passion and abhor war
Like an Airbender one with all other earthly elements.
How amusing the truth is– knowing
how you see your experiments to the bitter end while I unleash fire and extinguish it mid-air.
I can see that inquisitive look
Arising questions listing answers.
Our search for genuine and rare discoveries drag us at the center
Given the laws of give and take
A good partnership can be born.
The answer is bare
Let’s hope they can see all clear.
I am a person who lives well in solitude. I am not lonely. And although some days, people may find themselves offended by my strict adherence to such an adventure, I take no pride in it. When I have the luxury, I prefer to look deep into the bottom of my cup when I drink coffee than to look above it. Take me out of it and I’ll famish. My creativity is stimulated when I’m left in discourse with my true self. Let me dwell on it in order to find the world in a much lighter perspective. The blackness of the room is sunlight to me so when I want to breathe, I just need to be.
Here I lie writing an escape of emotion
As I settle in this room I long of breaking free
I’m thinking of many things
Yet, none of them I take of much importance
I’ve always loved acquaintances
Fear that when they’re gone
I too; be lost
I hate loquacity
I’m not even convinced of this dire stupidity
Walking alike in a gloomy wilderness
Confused of which road to partake
I’m neither the great Thespis who’s adamant in tragedy and drama
Nor Epicurus who enjoys the grandeur of pleasures
Not even Li Po who makes boats and drinks wine with the moon
Not even Shakespeare and King Arthur or any one
I’m a nobody.
But in this dark raven I’m someone who can be like them
As I slowly drift, my strength ebbs
Don’t want to lose my grip
Oh but Alas! Reject their comfort
I despise the idea of asking for their company
I’m a pessimist.
They’ll never be happy of me
It’s the same old feeling… It has always been
True, silence is much more deafening without friendships and friends
I’ve wanted to touch them but the nearer I come the farther they go..!
Time has lost its consideration as circumstances drive them away
Emptiness and loneliness rule over devouring me just in the nick of time
In this one solitude moment I feel my tears escaped
But don’t mind them they are but the traditional melodrama
People come and go but few remain a stain on you
Yet hope is scarce as time travels fast
So I have to play my role
to make-believe in something that never sprouts to life
Wishes and longings are fading in the air like the gentle smoke in the chimney
So in this one solitude moment I’ll be waiting!
My intention was to write for myself, to uplift my world that I often found too full for me; the devastation it brought in my life that made me mad about myself. I thought writing dedicated to myself could heal me, bring me back the spirit I innumerably lost; could help me stand against my own rampaging demons. I thought I could still impress myself with my own articulate words, persuasive and sincere ideas built around my unearthly fantasies and delusions. While these reasons were still true, I realized I no longer write solely for myself, for the sheer pleasure of it, I realized I no longer desire to solely impress myself. My desperation for aesthetics and self-appreciation and expression had caused me so much that I wanted you to be desperate for my words and letters, be impressed by me, desperate for me and hopefully beyond romantic, too. But the limbo I created, the bubbles I carefully kept not to burst and the ink I spared for you alone collapsed, bursted and spilt for the life of me. And it was sad. It was really fucking sad that you didn’t feel the same way; that all along it was only me living in the dungeon of love and romance. When I deluded myself thinking that the world supported me or was moved by the unwavering affection I had for you; I was wrong. And again I was fucking wrong! Now broken and numb I don’t know how else I could bring myself to stand again; to believe in love and to believe in my ability to discern things and its driving force. I’m ashamed of myself for trying so hard, for desiring so much and for not going against my will. I’m mad because I was stupid; stupid to fall for you. Yet here I am quite unapologetic for my self-made mistakes, convincing myself to at least hear what you have to say, an explanation that you probably don’t even know what and why you have to. I was so wrapped up, too carried away, too smitten and too hurled up by the good things you naturally do to me. I thought I saw your eyes glistened for me because I was intimately special for you. But then and again, you weren’t and I didn’t turn you on enough for you to want me. And it was really sad. It was fucking sad that I was wrong so wrong.
I wished I was better. No. I wished I thought things out critically when I worked so hard to finish the feelings I embroidered on a white cloth for you, the hopes I knitted using a more refined yarn for a future you and me and the cross-stitch I was proud of doing in all the days I devoted for you.
I knew It was my fault. Just that…
It was really fucking sad; really fucking wrong.
Once you were
the source of my desire;
A shelter to my dreams in
A paradise I held thrice.
Locked you up in
a heart called mine
Betrayed by the emotions
I held through time.
Without you dreams
could never fly
like a kite,
Dead of the wind oh my.
In the sky I dreamt
Desperate and cold was I
For fooling myself then cry.
I spoke first but didn’t think twice
So great I made multiple crimes.
Wished we had so much time
To know the language we never
Knew will find
In a place heard not
Of escapes and a flight
But of love and home