the heart knows

the world rolls;
every moment is different

and so are the ones
in houses,
on the streets,
sitting in the future,
singing in the fleets.

close your eyes, and
read the language
of your wandering mind.

the heart knows.

empty

i can do without
people.

most people.

i can be
lonely
but not

empty.

When someone asked me to write about love

I had no idea.

Love.
Never really knew what it meant.
Never knew if I was ever in love with someone.
Or someone was ever in love with me.

People say it all the time. I said it just because that’s what you do.
It’s probably the most common phrase used in english.

“I love you.”

But I never had the actual feeling.

You know when you can’t fall asleep because reality is better than your dreams.
Or you feel like you’ve found your soul mate and all is good in the world.
Or when she’s right next to you and you fall in love with the way she falls asleep: slowly, and then all at once.

Yep. That one. Never had that.

No idea what it ever meant, or what it was.
Until one day, I realized what the Beatles were singing about in “all you need is love”.
It goes like this:

“Nothing you can make that can’t be made.
No one you can save that can’t be saved.
Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time.
It’s easy.
All you need is love.
All you need is love.
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need.”

It has this really catchy vibe, and of course because it’s the Beatles.
So I was listening to it and then I realized, love isn’t something that enriches your soul, finds you your purpose in life, makes you a better person, and all that bullshit.
It’s really simple.
If you think about it, all we really have is time. There is nothing else that matters in the long run. And only love can make this time count. Nothing else. It can be loving your family, loving your friends, girlfriends, boyfriends, animals, trees, dirt, food, your iPhone, whatever.

In that context, I fall in love every single day with something, or with someone. Love doesn’t have to be restricted to just one person. Or one job.

It’s limitless. It’s freedom.
And people try to cage it with their social and religious norms every single day.
Let love be what it is.

and love.

luck.

and cracks seeped in,
the land trembled away,
and a phoenix rose from
the ground.

they cried
“what a luck.”

and under his
heavy patient breath
he smirked
for he didn’t remember
the last time he ever
stopped digging up
his luck.

When someone asked me what inspires me to write

Here’s what I told them:

That’s a good question. I feel this is what everyone struggles with at some point. I know I did. There’s always going to be times when you just sit down to write and nothing comes out on the paper. And we always wonder where and what is our inspiration.

I’m gonna tell you something different here. Inspiration is not real. That one moment when you have the brilliant idea about what to write doesn’t happen in reality. Or it’s way rare than people think it is. Your only inspiration to write should be your why. Why do you wanna write? Why did you start in the first place? That’s it. It’s your why.

Let me give you an example. I started writing long time ago, but I was the most irregular writer ever. And that’s bad. I never knew if I was good or not because I was afraid to show it to anyone. And that made me not wanna continue writing and leave it as just another hobby. But then I thought why I wanna do it. And my why is because where I’m from, no one thinks you can be a writer. No one I knew for a long time ever had a book published. And I know how much of a difference few words can make in someone’s lives. So I told myself, that’s my why. And I kept writing and writing and in few years, I was able to develop this habit of doing it every day even if I don’t feel “inspired” enough.

Make it a habit. Write regularly and put it out in front of people. They decide if you’re good or not. Always. And once you start doing this, you’ll see the magic happen. You won’t need inspiration because that one poem you wrote and someone left a comment on it saying “I really needed this today. Please never stop writing.” That’ll be your lifetime inspiration.

happiness only real when shared.

his pulse is

a constant struggle
between

making himself
happy

and
making his
happiness

real.

How to write

you ask
how I write poetry.

those words that
rhyme together in an
unusual way that
stays, with you
and the ones getting
wet in their rain.

there’s no secret, darling.

these words
and their poetry that
you claim to see
is not even real.

the only poetry
I believe
I ever saw was in
your wild hair, hypnotizing
its audience in the
wild wind ampitheatre
and in your
eyes, when you look
at me, and

smile.

imagination.

her
beauty and
wild

was way
beyond her

imagination.

Tennessee nights

tipsy hair, swaying
with the breeze

sound of her
smile, dancing
to the tease

faded denims, feet
in heaven

her, the stars
and old number 7.