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.

almost like a dream.

Almost like a dream in lost landscapes,
Behind the rickety gates of our past;
There rests a rose which resembles your shape,
Which transcends the beauty of the valley vast;

Always in the heart she loves,
And hears every whisper that weeps;
Her smile echoes in the sky above,
Below a forsaken forest lies asleep;

Each day the sun climbs up your lips,
To shamble in the tricks of lust and pride;
A song, like a wing, it eclipses,
The continuation of landscapes by your side;

        Almost like a dream these words will forever shine,
        In the summer skye where our fates intertwine.

we’re all fools here.

lips red as wine
your limousine eyelashes
reflect the white
from the moon
tangled fingers slide
on our skin.

we’ll forever be inscribed
in the verses of the ocean.
this prose will live
to see
many a nights
and breathe through my breath
whenever I shut the lights down.

this moment will be safe
and away
from the dusty highway
and ashes in the air
rising from the fires
of our past.
your every touch
is a fragment of a memory
in my heart
who seek to go nowhere
but drown
in your river

forever.

 

Three More Days: a.co/8qmOtnw

what is it?

there is a truth
that waits within us.

it doesn’t scream out
for resolution
nor does it resist.

it paces itself
on our heartbeats
and goes unnoticed
before the silhouetted sunsets.
the insignificance is same to me
as to you.
but what does exist
that your touch on my lips
cannot reveal?

it lives on, unconvinced
by logic and faith
as I dive deeper
into your river
that sketches me into our horizon,
and the truth slowly
surfaces up
with my remains.

it will stay there
until one and all shall delight us
and we, them.

Three More Days: a.co/8qmOtnw

so the weather, huh?

of course it’s pleasant
but not all year round
us is the weather
we must look forward to
as the seasons are forever bound

to the very nature
of stay, like lovers’ ways
the nights they warm
in the january blues
under the showers dry as a day

together we deem greater than
what seasons ever mean
we’re everything less than
the bittersweet skies, and more than
their love has ever seen.

 

Three More Days: a.co/8qmOtnw

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 Days: a.co/8qmOtnw

a dream is dead.

so walk slowly
don’t put your heavy
foot forward
stay away from the light
let it mourn over
the death, a dream has
just incurred.

let the light reflect
what it could have been
and create a shadow out of
what it has become.
do not whisper
for you may delay
its existence and
a connection with me
in a new world.

but don’t walk away
just stay, and notice
what happens after you killed
your dream last night
over a cup of coffee
you put on the blinds
and brushed it aside from
your life.
you celebrated your eyes
soon after that
and ignored the cries
coming from the floor
oh, how cruel a man
must be not to feed
and kill the child
of his own.

be careful, you’re stepping
over the line
just stop breathing
and let it die
and go back to
chasing what normality ensues
after a one last sigh.

Three More Days: a.co/8qmOtnw

here.

your eyes will study the lines
on my face, one day
though you are somehow unaffected
from the breathing of space
or the words i say.
amidst the picturesque explosion
of a pixelated city
you smile so dim
giving in to its sanity
your bones down to earth
is the apparition worth
your time?

or would you rather
come with me, and fly
to a place where your eyes
don’t have to
reach out for the light
where peace still lives
and recites the might
of an ignored perspective
of a beautiful painting
that never sold, that
never paid the bills
of my soul.

it’s all just made up
either in my mind, or lives
in between the intricacies
of these rhymes.
your eyes navigate carefully
through the trail my words
left, and follow the smell
of my air, slowly giving in
to the safety of my lair.

just stay there.

 

 

Three More Days: a.co/8qmOtnw

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.