floored.


it wasn’t the first time

i got lost in her hair
but the wind paused
and the sky looked over
this time
looked over me to see
if i was doing fine
and i told him
i didn’t even see him
walking through the door
i never felt him
putting his foot down
on my carpeted floor
and no it’s not that
i don’t love him as much
as i did before
it’s just that my
existence was clouded by
her hair and i couldn’t help
but want more.
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high and low.


five words that’s all you said
followed by five more
but never ever
you picked up your phone
and followed five more words
but nothing more

and now it’s late
in the dark
and the moon is nowhere
where it should be tonight
the black is taking over
the light
of your eyes

so darling
let’s not run away
to where we can’t make roads
you stay where you at
and i’ll be gone
soon as i get a little low.

a place where we go.


i saw the sun beating down
over the rooftops
and i watched the river flow
i stood at the watchtower
and wondered
where the currents go

and as the river flowed
and the wind blew
it didn’t matter which way
as long as it knew

and people disagreed with others
and words tasted like lies
others drowned in the blues
of those who couldn’t say goodbye

and the fog kissed the ocean
under the bridge
and the currents laid low
and i stood at the watchtower
and wondered
where people go.

end + begin.


let’s talk about love, she said
her eyes waiting for me
how would you describe it
instead of just letting it be

all of this we’ll talk about
it’s just going to be a memory
it did take a long time to find
but something’s dead in me
we had laughed, we had played
we had leaned on and let in
and then the leaves turned cold
time always at the end, begins.

and the light drained back to
the window it flooded from
we sat in a dark silence
all things about love, gone.

daydream.


yesterday

i walked out in the streets of
a misty daydream
i stumbled on the sides of
a dozen dead realities
i saw many a men watering
roots of a dead tree
i heard a person die and
many people laughing
i met with an artist whose
art died in love

and i decided i’ll be going back
to forget about today

until tomorrow.

writing blues.


writing poetry is a lot like playing blues music.

it’s definitely about what you say and how you express yourselves. what words you choose, how you phrase them, and what’s the bigger idea, the theme, the feeling behind those words you’re trying to convey.

but even more important thing to keep in mind is what you don’t say.

and this is a big one. poetry is an art form. you’re a performer and your readers are your audience. you are standing up on this stage, singing / playing for them. and what happens when you keep saying a lot of stuff and never stop? or when you keep playing scales after scales and even more on top of it? you lose the soul. you lose the meaning behind your idea you were trying to convey.

because it’s your thoughts, when you put them out by whatever art medium you choose to, you have to give your readers / listeners enough time to process that idea. that’s why what you don’t say and giving them space is so important in writing, music and any art form. and more often than not, you also have to repeat those ideas for a stronger emphasis. that’s why you see repetition of dance steps in a performance, or same lick in a solo more than once.

same techniques can be applied to your writing as well. and no, it’s not easy to just grab a pen and start doing all these things on the go. it takes time. a lot of it. but a start is all you need to get there.