seasons.


i bundle myself in the
arms of mist. i have a
faded scarf with
your smell in it.

did you leave the scarf
knowing I’d sniff it
almost endearingly?

that scent
that takes my mind back
to the times
that come back
with a sense of loss.
when I was living
besides the calm waves
and the arms of summer
trapped me in the
scorching lullabies of
your every breath.

somehow the seasons
have lost their way
and forgotten to call out
your name. my raw heart
beats against the fog
and this city cries
for a lost loss.

you will be here. and your
name will keep on
unifying the wait.

Three More Daysa.co/8qmOtnw

back to the shore.


As if each kiss
is one more promise.
a little wish
carried by the waves
to the shore.
perhaps already
we’re summoned by the hand
which calls
to the inevitably youthful eyes.

As if each kiss
lingers like lilies
in the swamp.
you hold your breath
you also hold mine
and in the slow return
from the fire
we struggle to breathe.

the bent head
the curved neck
and the bell strikes again.

we make our way back
to the shore
bound together, the sum
of life.

$5 a poem


I cannot speak
because I’m feeling.
my voice belongs to another.
my feelings speak of her.

as I slowly climb the stairs
with my voice quietly settling back in its place
I notice the loneliness
of the paintings on the wall.
art can be vacant
like the inside of the shoe
while the humans howl
in the sun.

I walk into my room
and a tidy bed awaits.
it certainly wasn’t expecting me
this late
or my new habit
as I pour a glass of wine
and open up my journal.

I have my voice back
but I still cannot speak.
I’m feeling
the echoes in me
as I bring the glass
to the horizon of my eyes
and paint the walls residing
in my mind
on paper.

poetry is what happens when
nothing else can.

a cheap date.


i track the shadows
across the mist
the fog that hides away
the glowing pain
of technological advances.

i search in the conversations
of the settlers
who float in the flow
of an endless stream of
clever, organic reach
bubbled up by the wind
that blows them away, and I myself
fly, a few miles away
on a half-fictional highway.

i’m looking for the folklores
the old, and dusted names
in reprinted editions
in the pockets of
your ragged suits
in the colors of mission
any of those ghosts
will do, so long they bring me down
back to the earth
and haunt my face
through the misty mirror
before it turns blue
with deep black eyes
and a shiny smile
the one you pretend
whilst the black hole
of your screen glows endlessly.

i’m making an escape
much thanks for a cheap date
my feet are aching
for new grit.

 

Three More Daysa.co/8qmOtnw

venice.


i will admit
i was scared
of going into the great depths
of the vast entirety
of the pacific
when you called my name
from a thousand waves
apart.

each print of
my firm footprints
was quickly excused
from its existence

unlike the little boy
in my memories
who had nothing but heavy water
all around him
knocking impatiently
on his head
trying with all its might
to scream
as he
who once had the surety
of the ground
was then slowly going
down,
and further away,
and further.

until the bottom met
his head, and
he realized in that
moment
it was just water.

that moment came back
to me, as i dragged
my dead feet towards
the voice that i’d
give
everything for.

it’s just water.

but there was no need
for reinforcing the facts,
for the entirety
of the pacific
almost didn’t exist
in front of
the vastness of the love
that
that voice carried.

is it too much to ask for?


“Stop playing this again
and again. I’ve heard enough
about suicides.”

and everyone looked up
from their phones.
she was standing in the middle of the bus.
even from the back
her large green backpack
and a tensed face, stood out
amidst her shout.

“I know what these messages
mean. Stop these damn things.”

and we just laughed
at the back
at her understanding of
bus announcements. even though
none of us knew
what they meant. we were
just smart enough.

“What? Do you think suicide is funny?
You think I’m crazy? I have a
bachelors in Psychology and a Masters.”

and our eyes grew even further
apart as we saw each other’s faces
and we laughed even more.
we said, man she’s on
drugs, or had too much to drink.

“I don’t drink. My last drink
was 9/9/2012. I had a sprite
tonight. They mixed something in it
and, and, they did something and
I got out of there. I don’t drink
alcohol. I don’t. I need help.”

and we didn’t believe
a word she said and carried on
bonding with each other over
a drunk middle aged
woman shouting in the bus
and I met Brian
who just had a couple of drinks
and Jamie and her two friends
were 16 and never drank, and
Lee was high.

“You all think I’m crazy
but I am right. I work with, I know
about suicides, and I studied
psychology and you shouldn’t do this.
Stop these messages please.”

and a couple of stops
later, she got off
and quietly walked away from
the street into the dark, and
disappeared.

It was 11:15 PM.

we laughed a bit more,
and then just sat there
looking away from each
other, in a strange silence.

surprise surprise


Hello there lovely people,

I have some exciting news today for y’all. I have been working on my first book for a while now, and it’s finally here! It’s called “Three More Days” and I couldn’t be more excited sharing it with you 😀

so happy GIF by Manchester City-downsized_large

You can get your copy on Amazon (I’d say get at least 3 copies, you know, just in case) and share it with your friends as well who are into poetry. It also includes a shoutout to all my wonderful readers, so yes, y’all made it in the final version! Honestly, I would’ve never thought of writing a book if you were not this amazing with your responses to my posts here, so it’s really all your fault that this book is out now.

So accept your responsibility, grab a copy, and let me know if you liked it (or if you liked it).

Cheers!

don’t know what to call this one.


I picked up my pen
last night
to tell you
why I still keep your
shampoo in my bath
but soon as the ink
started flowing
my body started to
drown in the bubbles
of our past
the time when I thought I knew
what love is
and then crossed
our paths.

and the time stopped
moving around, it got up
and set on a
straight line
it followed your lead
into your exploration of a new space
while I watched
helplessly, from behind.

and soon my pen
danced under the dim light
and drew the ink
from my heart
you took those moments
away, from me
and all I was left with
was some words on a page and
your shampoo, in my bath.

take both, my dear


I force my eyes to sustain
the little opening they can afford;
wish I would have listened to him.

with the spirits starting to dance
and breathe in the air
I sigh
and stare into the eyes of
the night, when he made the crowd
swoon over the blues
of his fingers.

I pause like photos
as the silence of the dark whispers
empty streets murmur whistling tones
the haze of street lights
and my eyes have found
a resemblance.

it’s all going dim.

just like a woman.


my hands don’t feel a thing tonight
as i stand in the shower
of the breeze
the ghost of your body
holds on to my neck
wondering how bad lives make
good stories,
but your face is safe
from the closed doorways
as you escape, the black and
the white of the night,
just like a woman
who mixes the shades
and paints her world, in colors bright.

and you walk closer, announcing your stay
with a scrumptious smile
on your face
the comfort flows with
anything you say
but don’t think it’ll always
be this way,
and just like a woman, who sings
a song with her eyes
with her hair and pearls overlooking,
you hold my face
amidst a dozen doubts
as the hard moon keeps on looming.

and now i’m here
standing cold
after waking next to strangers
get old
realizing my various faces
were just made up words
that my pen constantly poured,
i study your ears
underneath your breath
maybe this was a part
of your plan
you pull my hair
and scrape my back, and moan
just like a woman.