The thoughts that we have

adolescence adorable blur child

Photo by Matheus Bertelli on Pexels.com

 

What thoughts do I have of you tonight?

Weird dreams appeared to me wild and vain

Walking down the path to good health

I could not be much more self-aware

That under the Narra trees in summer

A sea of scent perfumes the air

And into the vortex a new aspire began

Profoundly spiraling a world that I didn’t see

And the flaws of a woman weren’t a diamond in his chest

That it may bore glitters of a sailing memory

So that you wouldn’t have to preach

Such a woman who bore her soul upon

The navy-blue rocks of her dreams.

What thoughts of me do you have tonight?

A well-furnished room for immaturity

Dangling chandeliers of jealousy

Lighting the room where putrid foals lay scattered on the floor

To the kitchen where boundless memories of a sick language

Engulfed. You could not

Even be more self-unconscious

How non-nourishing our lives have been

Stepping on sharp wet glasses and making

It a beautiful slumber.

Indeed. Beneath the pillows we let out a spell

That fairies of the future may wake us up one day

From this endless chant where no one knows

Even the cries of the ants on the mountain

Ridges hails the cry for help that echoes echoing

Down the ocean of fog and into this

Dominating self-realization

That our lives have consistently

Made a fall as we keep bouncing back to

The wooden plank we had set up for our own safety

Thus, it’s almost as if we fostered a dream

Where doves and butterflies we could

never see resting…and nesting…cocooning…

under the nurturing Narra tree.

What thoughts of a future do we have for one another?

Perhaps, a dream none of us can foretell.

 

 

 

Friendship day

FB_IMG_15122746585822677.jpgFB_IMG_1491201354608

 

 

 

 

 

We found each other like how one would find her eyeglasses on a bedside table. Anxiously trying to see face to face the familiar monologue of a broken piece, and when we did our footprints traced the entire space with jazz music, colorful nights, and warm meals. Compartimos las herridas con limón, tequila y sal. I hope that even if stars live and die, our friendship stays. Happy Friendnniversary mis amigos mejores! Os extraño mucho. Espero que están bien en sus trabajos, familias y relaciones de corazón. Vamos a seguir el sueño de nuestros futuro especialmente viajar al otro parte del mundo. Mucho gusto!

 

FB_IMG_15013535573236572FB_IMG_15143731116438725.jpg

not a desert cloud

you wrote your words like a prayer for me

healing waves rushed to my ribs

small seeds sprouting, astonishing

attraction. You can’t always touch a painting

this way, such kindness would’ve melted the

awkward colors.

 

You’re blessed with bliss by the divine

And talent knows her master’s sun

Your hand and eyes they know so well

The slightest doubt within tiny

Desert clouds.

 

Sweetheart, the politics of a conscious man

May frisk a friend to a dangerous submission

But with you, reign nothing sly neither is the man

Let’s eat, and I’ll pour you wine to

Revel our hearts breezy equal care

 

Sometimes I wonder if God has made you

The golden key to unknown windows and

Locked doors…you dress up with such loving words.

 

Within my bosom, I feel I have the sun’s worth

Raining light towards this forbidden log house

Thank you for rolling my lips to a certain smile

My cheeks glow with so much sunshine

My heart’s no longer the odd desert cloud.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The invite

pink leafed trees

Photo by Lisa Fotios on Pexels.com

 

Come on. Let’s take a picture together.

With a panoramic view and a psychedelic feel

I want us to make love with the Lord’s every creation

With our eyes open for wounds, and hands for healing.

 

People aren’t poems, but we reduce them into words

And describe them with a ginger beard and gingerbread?

Oh no, I don’t know where this talk is going

After all, I bed you so poetically

That my feet desire a walk to where your eyes gaze at

Even desperately.

 

And now, I’m plagued with love bites.

Undoubtedly, as the rainbow falls over my heiress beauty

Believing you are more than enough!

 

 

shadows

close up photo of assorted color of push pins on map

Photo by Aksonsat Uanthoeng on Pexels.com

 

Even shadows have weight

That seeps through the marrow

Of the righteous nape.

If I have my way, I want to collect

All the accompanying nameless

Friends that only grow bigger

With ignorance left on the

Windowsill.

I want for a single hour

Sway the arms that fully stretch

Around a cold corpse bed without

The grasses and weeds folding in fear, and

Sandal straps being torn.

Blurring line

lunar eclipse cycle

Photo by Hossam M. Omar on Pexels.com

I’m impressed by your honey-tossed view in life. Such mentality has brought you only happy thoughts of surviving and living. I could not help but think that fun for you comes naturally because you speak as though the universe breathes within you. I do not remember the season or any tossing of a coin which makes me think the way I do. Believe me, I am not as graceful as the flowerets running down the hills of life under the rainy sunshine. In fact, I am always gasping for air. I’m drowning even though I’m filled with warm wind and galloping horses. They said, “Give someone a lemon and he’ll make you lemonade.” Throw him some stones and he’ll give you bread.” Make him a cup of coffee and he’ll give you days of music and laughter.” All these are wonderful takeaways in life. I do not oppose any of it. Young lad, I love life and all its nuances but that doesn’t mean I get to live it as passionately as you.

But, I dream about cuddles and birthday candles that I could summon in battle. The sound of an encircling arm slicing up the wind to protect me melts all my unwanted inhibitions. I chase after beautiful marbles and orange seashells at night when everyone else is hibernating. Relentlessly until I get over winter blues and vowed anew the true meaning of self-preservation and power.

I would gladly take your hand should you feel the need to take me to a marvelous firmament in spring. The heights where you take the colors of deep intoxications and the eerie voices, I would undoubtedly plummet with you perhaps, the promise of smiles and silence could bear new stalks within me. Young lad, nature has always fulfilled its roles and promises to humanity in many ways instinctively and magically, however, watching this has gradually become random letters leaving home one by one from words I could unspeakably express mostly due to self-disenfranchisement. This pains me all over. No matter what good intentions these precious marigolds hand me, the feeling of ghoulish cold and memories of insignificance always find a way to unleash Fenrir from her multi-layered seal inside my arteries; of course, the hunt for enmity has me pleading for a goodbye to fresh air and glorious days.

 Young lad let me take the backseat next to the window so, I could come and peek behind the rich arch and enjoy the pure light that comes forth within you. Only then shall I make it out of this heavy; blurring lines.

   

 

Death row

The executioner: Do you have any last words before your execution?

Prisoner: No, sir.

abstract anatomy art blur

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Executioner: Do you have any last words before your execution?

Prisoner: No, sir.

Executioner: Family?

Prisoner: (For my dearest sister Olivia and little Josephine) No, sir!

 

Good enough reasons are good enough for a reason.

What last message would I have good enough to make things right?

I am on the last day of my journey yet, I am not free to know where my spirit would fall

Would it be with my maker or would it be with my slayer?

These questions, although they are good enough, don’t make me feel at ease in the face of my death sentence.

But of course, what any good enough reasons will I be able to come up to fool my brain not to think this way,

Is there any good enough reason other than a lame excuse?

You ask me a question I could not answer my friend, he said.

For the wages of sin is death.

Am I expected to be enthusiastic about this today?

Perhaps, having the right attitude can supersede fear—

This time of day?

 

Prisoner: Wouldn’t you speak ill towards me? I broke the law. Killed my friend, raped my sister and, sold my child. I’m proud that I even made it this far with my brain still at the center and my heart in place.

Executioner: Yeah, you’re right. Congratulations! You spent your life in line with your good enough reasons. But I’ll have you know that even I, the executioner, have my good enough reasons as well. Slicing your head and stabbing your heart would be good enough reasons, too.

Prisoner: Oh that? Well someone has got to do it anyway, I’m glad it’s you. Please just put a smile on my face today. It would be my first in a long time.

 

the sound of the chains being dragged by my feet                                                                    the silence of the halls with my double handcuffs                                                                    the door on the other side                                                                                                                    I wonder if all of these would be good enough.                                                                            Dearest sister Olivia and little Josephine, would this be enough?                                              Too bad I don’t have all the time in the world to pay for what I did behind bars               My life will be completely stopped before your train arrives in Alcatraz

I was told that my execution will be quick, I prayed hard that it would last longer than 10 minutes. I begged the judge that he might extend the hours so dearest sister Olivia and little Josephine can relish their time to desperately hate me enough.

Only then I can take their hatred in the afterlife and ask my maker for forgiveness and spare my dearest sister Olivia and beautiful Josephine from further wretchedness…

 

Oh God, please make my reasons good enough. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Death row

The executioner: Do you have any last words before your execution?

Prisoner: No, sir.

abstract anatomy art blur

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Executioner: Do you have any last words before your execution?

Prisoner: No, sir.

Executioner: Family?

Prisoner: (For my dearest sister Olivia and little Josephine) No, sir!

 

Good enough reasons are good enough for a reason.

What last message would I have good enough to make things right?

I am on the last day of my journey yet, I am not free to know where my spirit would fall

Would it be with my maker or would it be with my slayer?

These questions, although they are good enough, don’t make me feel at ease in the face of my death sentence.

But of course, what any good enough reasons will I be able to come up to fool my brain not to think this way,

Is there any good enough reason other than a lame excuse?

You ask me a question I could not answer my friend, he said.

For the wages of sin is death.

Am I expected to be enthusiastic about this today?

Perhaps, having the right attitude can supersede fear—

This time of day?

 

Prisoner: Wouldn’t you speak ill towards me? I broke the law. Killed my friend, raped my sister and, sold my child. I’m proud that I even made it this far with my brain still at the center and my heart in place.

Executioner: Yeah, you’re right. Congratulations! You spent your life in line with your good enough reasons. But I’ll have you know that even I, the executioner, have my good enough reasons as well. Slicing your head and stabbing your heart would be good enough reasons, too.

Prisoner: Oh that? Well someone has got to do it anyway, I’m glad it’s you. Please just put a smile on my face today. It would be my first in a long time.

 

the sound of the chains being dragged by my feet                                                                    the silence of the halls with my double handcuffs                                                                    the door on the other side                                                                                                                    I wonder if all of these would be good enough.                                                                            Dearest sister Olivia and little Josephine, would this be enough?                                              Too bad I don’t have all the time in the world to pay for what I did behind bars               My life will be completely stopped before your train arrives in Alcatraz

I was told that my execution will be quick, I prayed hard that it would last longer than 10 minutes. I begged the judge that he might extend the hours so dearest sister Olivia and little Josephine can relish their time to desperately hate me enough.

Only then I can take their hatred in the afterlife and ask my maker for forgiveness and spare my dearest sister Olivia and beautiful Josephine from further wretchedness…

 

Oh God, please make my reasons good enough. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the fear of a lonely cup

blur coffee cold cup

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

…should the valley host a spread of daffodils and towering sequoia trees, soft mosses and, migrating birds, will you be there to share this delight or, will you stay lonely as a cup? 

Outside is full of surprises. This wonderment has never shut our eyes close. Nature has always something feisty coming up on her sleeve and, everything simply appears rich and beautiful. It’s true. However, seeing things lovely as they are, I wonder if all of us really loved it. Most people would exclaim, “Oh, how beautiful! It’s relaxing. It impacts my life in a different kind of way!” But do we really mean what we say?

Would saying mean things to something already beautiful strange? For example, when you are on top of a mountain overlooking the city with light fog and a slightly cold feeling, you’d say I dislike this view. There’s nothing good about a city only beautiful when watched from above.

Or, when you are at the beach listening to the majestic sound of the waves with flying seagulls and fair weather, you’d still feel out of place and lonely. You say I don’t understand why initially people would say that this place is beautiful when it’s not.

If you ever speak to someone and both of you are looking at a masterpiece say a painting, together you say “incredible.” But you don’t know if it is incredibly beautiful or incredibly ugly unless you ask the other properly for clarity. But for some reasons, we don’t ask others for the clarity of what they mean. We assume that they feel the same way as we do because it’s normal; that’s what it should be.

And even if the other person desires to say further of what he wants to say, he doesn’t say anything to change it at all. And why is that? Are we only here to pursue other people’s expectations? Can’t we just say the view is not beautiful in fact it’s horrible? Free of guilt?

Is it because it’s NOT normal? To be normal. What does normalcy in this world mean? And where does it get us?

Why is it so hard to break free from this horrible state?

Fear. The fear to be odd; to be NOT normal. To be different from others.

Do we only see the world this way?

Where is honesty? Sincerity? True compassion and love for that matter? We say what the other person wants to hear. If we say otherwise, will be tagged as offensive, perverted, a hypocrite, dumb, crazy and, strange.

Do people come off naïve for asking this?

Because if it does then, it would be heartbreaking to go outside to see the valley with the spread of daffodils and, towering sequoia trees with flying seagulls, soft mosses and, migrating birds like this.

Perhaps, the reason why some people no matter how beautiful the world outside is, they still choose to stay lonely as a cup inside.

Surprises, wonderment become dull tales.

Yet, that’s one way of looking at things, right?

____________________________________________________________________________________________

The joy that we feel came from humanity’s blooming fear

Mean-spirited angels

Walking on earth like precious flesh

With the blood of royalties and, howling nobility

but we nip our wings out of fear

we talk the language of the world

we plunge into more parodies

to create a world of equals

of normalcy

of trendy hypocrisy

We camouflage we become it

We flag our opinions and individuality

We forget our wings

We hide that we are mean-spirited angels

Seeking the end of the world.

 

The musicians music

adult conceptual concert dark

Photo by OVAN on Pexels.com

What’s it like to be a musician? Being a musician…a musician…what does that suppose to mean? Living in music…music? variant sounds…they make up music… music to the human soul…How philosophical. The metaphysical aspect is profound too. …Music has gone a long way in influencing every person… 

A friend once told me about his roommate who ceaselessly played with his guitar… That friend of his said, “I need to practice more. It’s not enough.” loudly, passionately in their room…My friend asked so when is your next gig? With the way you perform, I bet you’re ready to entertain. 

His friend remained silent. As if the answer didn’t matter. Or if there was really an answer he could give to a curious roommate….not sure. 

He played his guitar but never talked…he practiced but never smiled…the room although there were two of them was devoid of the other’s existence…

Weren’t they supposed to be talking? communicating? helping? about a stated need or the unstated need? Any thing. Anything that matters.

My friend although not worried… he did play with his guitar. But one’s music and the other’s music, I thought had the element of separation too. Technically, they were really good. But somehow, I felt lost. Both had unleashed their power.  I can see purple, red, blue and green…strong and powerful…With all these mixes of colors, I thought something was off; missing.

Music…the sound of music…though they are universal…timeless…endless…for these two people, the way they create and play their music, I feel like falling into the abyss…

You see them playing like spiders..thrashing webs, threading…waiting…waiting…but no matter how beautifully made were the nets above… below a shadow was cast. So I was there underneath their cobwebs… it was engulfing…cold… black…breathless… it felt like a prison… like inside the eye of a storm…

Their expressions unchanged; so was their music. I was certain that what I felt was sheer displacement.

“Were you happy? Were you okay?” I wanted to ask. 

 

But it seemed the answer wasn’t ready yet. The preparations… incomplete.

 

Entertainment… To entertain…were rather big words to them.