The He-Devil took this life

I got sunburned waiting for the Herb today

The nagging woe

A decade of still distraught

Chronic pain, addiction, & depression—
instead of Two

In a sea of static

The idiosyncratic eye left my soul

With an assault rifle

Disintegrating fragments of devilish

The forthcoming verge

Lingered

the string of messages in hand,

& the assault rifle took this life—

But the third person I remain

the static Ocean with the new Label

You said there was a new chapter

On the Horizon;

the uncertain place without a partner

supportive of his genius

towards the alley with the

assault rifle

But the third person I remain

Hope stood with the Devil in black—

A privy to his creative brilliance

Ruthless that they hang-out

To grow up down the road

His grandfather could care less

One by one piece by piece no remorse

This musical obsession found me the Devils

Crafted homemade spices from a Mexican herb

In 2011 entrenched in the club circuits

Befriended the heroin

To make further advancements

In hand, the assault rifle

With the Infectious flash mobs

A local fixture; at the center

Took this life

In search of a reason

Still

blasted with a shotgun

Shell

To hold the air of mystery with a relative ease

But the third person I remain.

 

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The plush fabric of the night strained me

my olden bleat of pity found me again tonight

against the soft cushion with a pleasant depiction of you so long-drawn-out

Trespassing sight of flickering lights held my whimpers upright

for I have been coiled up by the heavy ropes of our precious pinkies

You are the purple flowers in daylight where bees

make patterns of their sugar lips pressed onto my doleful skin

With the night sky making cracks; branching out, I am nailed

on my bed frightened to be known

This love; this faith in you ‘til now

Have been the pillars I used to change my mind’s laser beam trajectory

Engraved in my heart’s crest forking;

getting lost within the beast’s flames

Many things become reminders of the past

Like a ring on the sun

Like merciful petals blooming one by one to show you to me

Lewdly as I recite your poems

The rhymes seem to desynchronize

With your physique leaning on me

Night and day, what a forlorn girl I have become.

Glitters of pleasure may die unnamed

Like a sudden shake from a long dream

I wish for the night clouds to gather

Drops to fall

To drive out the flames

To tell him that despite all this

No matter how far we may be

I still care for him

Even though

The memories project a shipwreck image off the coast of oblivion; nearly drowned.

 

 

 

 

 

Here I am.                                                                                                                                                On my toes again

With His Highness Sheikh Hamdan bin Mohammed Al Maktoum, Crown Prince of Dubai, I’d like to tap on my words to give rise to a new tune.                                                                  If I may, It’d be the sweetest.

Perhaps a song will be made flesh.

 

From an article on google, I found his name

Thought the name was intriguing

I read through the pages

It budded out to some more pages and now, I’m interested.

Until my head knocked out some sense in me.

His Highness smelled honor and true justice

May this poem warrant me no death penalty

But His Highness spoke wisdom in His poetry

And hooked my heart like a fierce Falcon

His poems I long to deserve

to be able to plant them through my deeds.

May this nourish the lives of my comrades

From the land that nursed

And protected my people.

 

My land watered my flesh and taught me

Better things with Pride and Dignity.

Penning this does not steam my fears away

It does not seal the raving sea within

Oh, have mercy!

I do not pray to be pried for a breach of any law.                                                                            I adore the Prince like a child; like the biggest fan.

 

Did two of my face’s bright windows

and wooden door awaken the depths of impossibility?                                                                A real Prince married to a pauper: a pauper to a real Prince.                                                        This I ought to be the truth.

To stand in love with the Crown Prince; a stranger to me but never to my country.              Even I knew the odd one out.

 

Prince,                                                                                                                                                   (it has a beautiful sound to it.)

 

The vast sand where your people have set up their Bedouin

To shelter other tribes from the coldest nights;

To shield their skin born out of embers from the frowning sun

Truly was majestic.

How the strength of desires immortal amplified the splendid stories of every person—

You lead them as the camels with their humps on their back in a jovial mood; attentive to the curse of the living nature.

When sandstorm whirls any present debris to hurt your friends

Your arms are spread before them so that

Each sorrow is painted clean

With you; the omnipresent man of your Kingdom.

 

 

The world is a walking sin                                                                                                                    (it cultivates pain and oppression)

It hogs greed and livens up power

It survives through clanging metals; banging tanks instead of music and the rhythm of a poet.

I breathe fear from amongst my veins

I folded my heart in sick rejoice;

Not to have faith for those who locked their eyes against your eloquent pursuits.

 

I remember, as a child, the smell of

burnt leaves that do not leave my skin unless I bathe.

My loneliness destroys my bosom

Every time the cry of silence dominates.

But as a repercussion, I call out to the wind

To seek your protection.

 

Perhaps I adore you

And the rumors alongside you.

O, what do I know?

 

But with you, My Prince

to whom the stars worship,

to whom the seafarers find on a dangerous cruise

His life a delicate

His wings of hardened gold

And, clothes a spotless—

I sing my praise to the Highest

For in my dreams, I once desired

A chance, a time to feel a true Prince

in my stride.

 

O, what a dream; a steadfast one.                                                                                                    O, what do I have to illuminate?                                                                                                          I wonder.

 

With His army aiming to win every battle

Granted one dares to speak ill of His name

Will blow the mightiest Tower away

Regardless.

 

I do not possess what the precious Dolls have; a fragile body and a glass house.

But my home is lumped by people with calloused feet and toiling hands

and I only have the sun in my heart.

I walk without fame

Not well-acquainted with Dirhams

But if one can find love and prosper joy

What’s wrong with that?

 

I saw a pale blue light illuminating the mountain peak

Right before darkness invades to immobilize the city

Before this sentiment transforms into madness

to sadness

Head over to my house and,

Bring me the gift of endurance to which I owe this ‘would be’ masterfully crafted moment.

 

Love,

A

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Today at the Hall

She sits behind her table

And takes precious calls

While she’s doodling some trolls on her pad;

rolling her eyes til China meets Africa,

A caller begs her request not to be put on hold.

She said, “Your endorsement letter is ready for pick up at 11 a.m.”

Her tiny heart runs to the exit door

And got to the City Hall.

When she asked the lady for her fortune,

She said, “I don’t know anything at all.”

Sir Pablo and the cult leader went out of town

No less than Bohol.

Damn that empty confidence and her deceitful

Tone!

Surprised by the lady’s ignorance and all,

The kitten asked for her rat but

was denied of her turf

Why summon a tiny hopeful

Trick her—

Make her worry for an empty porcelain paper?

“Please come back at 3 p.m perhaps they’ll

Make an appearance together once more.”

I said, Ms. I’m sorry I don’t have that play time and all

She said, “Too bad so bad we have no choice at all.”

So, can I get my fortune?

No way, I know nothing at all.

This is goin’ nowhere, Lord

Dubai, Canada, Spain, and Brazil

So long, farewell; I gave my all.

Guess for this bunch of Immortals inside

The marbled house

They don’t care about Juan’s downfall

behind the wall.

It seems a simple comedy.

If only Karl Marx was wrong—

 

 

 

 

 

 

To the stranger from the opposite city hours and miles away from here

O lover of the future

O stranger of the day

Anything but not a parting

I bet you wouldn’t want it either–

I love you, I love you

No matter the size of your panties

And the worrisome of your house

However, you crouch or squat

And tear the clothes you wear

I swear–

Before grandfather complicates your absence,

I love you until your time zone meets my time zone

or penguins join goats

and carps sing with trumpets

whatever the conditions may be

Soaked chicks can get sick

Injured dogs get pushed away

And none of the club members

Would even take a whale-torn skill.

 

 

 

Please come the tender rain

Please come the tender rain.

 

Do you hear that sound knocking on your spirit?

Dried and barren as the red sand.

Although I know little of my existence

can reach you,

I wish today is the day each sadness

Will fly away to leave you and your scorched heart.

Don’t mock my song, I’ll leave with this music.

As you go on to your path remember

The days you sat one summer

When you prayed for me to come

Like tender rain.

Please come my tender rain

And bring the flowers to a bloom again

Let the rivers run full again

And a radiant rainbow once again

Take me back to that precious memory

When I am no longer tied up to my inner conflicts

Around you like tender rain,

Come to me young and anew.

I hold your breath every time the water trembles

And I see my own before a mirror

Even if only for one change of season

Visit me like you always do

Wash me away along the rigid gutters of the city

To the salt less river where my forefathers

Had raised me

Back to the ocean to be free.

Sing the ancient music; the song for my soul

Grant me the freedom to wander around

My beloved home

Come to me but a rushing soul

Come rain on me you, simple soul.

 Please come to me you, the tender rain.

 

 

 

 

Reine d’avril

roses1

I am sorry.

I wanted to bring you two deep dark red roses.

You; the commonplace of my immoderate zones.

But I clad two in my frock

with each trudge, one rose capered

no way to suppress the darkened spades.

The air blew with the first petal

Came ‘round and in circles

until none of them were seen dangling.

My cloak inflamed; perfumed.

Today I could but not give two deep dark red roses.

But, my cloak still inflamed; perfumed.

How you have held the fort.

Tainted wide with royal fingerprints?

Peasants genuflected in the presence

of the nobles.

How this servant’s heart interluded

with taunting breakage but in

secrecy.

Two deep dark red roses

where they flew a respite,

wilted thy bounty.

Strayed, cascaded down the rivers

sinking beneath the unsettled ambers.

Tonight, I will be inflamed; perfumed.

For the memories of two deep dark red roses

soon will draw breath.