If I was the shoe in your foot,
Who was the sock
that impeded us to touch skin with skin?
Who was that sock,
that received the stinks from your lips and absorbed all of the sweat
from your heated days?
Who was that sock,
That I have to thank?

Seems today it's just this empty bottle on the table
Me and a couple of strangers
Sitting in front of the bending machines
It's always like this, isn't it?

We gaze to every corner of the room, to every direction as if looking for another human to interact with, expect we never gaze into each other eyes.

Sigh

Someone just left...

--

Ive been meaning to write more often than ever
But exams have been consuming my thoughts
They have no energy to run
And who am I kidding? It's not my thoughts
but me whose energy has been depleted

Often I thought it was him, rather us,
Who didn't have energy to go on
Who didn't have electricity to keep a relationship going
But There was no chemistry
there was no relationship
Only chats
Conversations
that hold a meaning
and a couple of memories
that all lead back
to a screen
to this screen

I'm certain


That whomever reads those conversations
would think
It's just another one of my poems...

Water and the rocks,
Splish and splash, the river goes.
And there,
at the top of the mountain,
The moon hangs above the trees

like a boomerang
It comes and goes
As the night falls

Shh, Hear the waterfalls.
And there,
at the riverbank, a wolf howls.

Sometimes you wonder,
is this really what I am meant to do?
And no matter how much you ponder,
the answers don't seem to come to you.

It feels as if you are lost in time,
sitting in a chair in front of a computer,
just wondering and pondering about life,
As if by just thinking, you became a writer.

But a writer mustn't just think,
a writer mustn't just wonder and ponder,
a writer must also type what the writer thinks,
but also what the writer feels as it wonders and ponders.

Yes, it's a tricky thing to do,
To connect the wonders to the feelings
to wonder what to feel
and to feel what one wonders

And  yes, it's a tricky thing to do,
to ponder about wonders
to wonder how to ponder
and to ponder how to feel about what one wonders

It's really a tricky thing do,
to be able to express what one thinks
and what one feels,
without really wondering and pondering,
because ultimately, what one writes
shouldn't exactly be thought out.

it's meant to be filtered out of us.

And it is true, that if tomorrow
the oceans go dry
and the seas vaporize
like water in a pan,
I won't know how to react.

I might scream,
I might hear my aunt scream
I might see my grandma rush
to the stove.
I might see my mother
rush to my grandma.
I might see them spill water
from the faucet
onto the pan on fire
While I stand still

still watching how the world reacts
as the oceans go dry
as the seas vaporize
and there isn't a stove
nor water
to set the fire on Earth off.

You know what you must do,
Yet you do not do what you must.
Is it a lack of motivation,
Or procrastination that alienates you
from doing what you must?

Whatever it is,
just do...

Someday, I'll be like a volcano
underneath the sea-
immersed in depth
awaiting to erupt with wisdom
And create an island
where people can step on and rest

Man, I don't know...

But I could be a bottle,
lost and found,
First thrown into a sea to wander
Then thrown into a sea to be found
But hey, here I am,
floating in a sea, swaying in between waves,
Then floating here, into your hands,
With a message to say
Be just, be Kind

Live life with dignity,
And love,

Oh love,
live life.

like an earring in your earlobe,
my thoughts hung,
Pendulating back and forth,
Trying to whisper in your ears
"Come-hither my love"

but ah too fierce was your walk,
And my thoughts,
Pendulated back and forth timidly,,
That I just hung
Like that earring in your earlobe.

Somewhere in white pages, I lost you.
I call it your letters - boxes in the attic:
unread, unwritten.
Empty envelopes with a recipient,
And a sender, but with no content,
with no story, with no reminder
of us ever being together.

Sally-Sam 'silently' sings in her mind 'aloud'
her mama screams: "Sally-Sam!"
But Sally-Sam startled, wide-opens her eyes.

She asks: "Mama, can you read my mind?"

Sally-Sam is six, skinny, and sweet.
She swirls with her flowery skirt, legs crossing in twirls,
with shoulders sassily scintillating a shrug.

her mama says, "come here, silly girl!"

But Sally-Sam still in shock stays in her spot.
Unsound, still silently singing her song,
she asks again, "mama, can you read my mind?"

Her mama says, "Sally-Sam!"

And Sally-Sam giggling and with a big smile says,

"Mama! How do you know my song?"

I cannot read your mind,
Nor can I predict your thoughts,
( even if I wish I could )
So how am I to know?

You know,
communication is the key,
that unlocks understanding
And helps everyone coexist
on the same plane of reality.

So when you speak to me,
Speak straightforward,
not cheek on tongue,
Not with metaphors or similes,
just straightforward,
Tell me what you want
And I'll tell you, what I want
Straightforward.

that's it.

And if what I want
And if what you want
Is not the same as what I want
nor the same as what you want
we'll think of something,
together,
to arrive to what we both want,
If not,
We'll think of something,
together,
to arrive to something
entirely different of what we both want.

But we both will decide.

Communicate, be patient, and respect
Each other's wishes, needs, and wants.

Ah to hell with this,
Some loves are born dead
They are meant to not live

Though they would still make you bleed
To experience pain
Through a c section
That'll scarred you forever

And it'll hurt twice as ever

Because you'll never experience the joy
of seeing Love grow

L.L.

There's this thing called the ego,
It likes sitting on the passanger sit,
Until it takes the wheel,
Then it stirs us into a steep road,
Away from everyone in our lives,
It just drives us towards a steep hill,
Where everyone looks like ants,
And it continues driving,
Until it drive us crazily mad,
And we just feel like getting away from those ants
Or we just feel like stepping on those ants,
Because it feels like the ants,
are coming towards us,
As if the ants are walking on our skins,
And we itch and itch to just scratch
But this ego continues driving us away,
more and more towards that steep road,
Where everyone keeps looking like ants,
Unless we take the wheel back.

March 3, 2015

At the highway
A man speeds up his mustang
like he does his life

wiggling tail
a husky barks at a leash
like yelling for freedom

a fish, a dish so delish I relish to eat
with chips with chips
so salty so rich

So now, a fish I wish to fish
To eat demolish in bliss

I added
a bit of bitsy liquid sugar
A viscous substance,
Now
dripping from my spoon
like moonlight onto a lake of cereal

Oh that sweet, motherly nectar
That in between petals
flourished
That which with pollen
Bees pollinated
And that from which
They made
Honey
And my bowl of cornflakes
Taste
So sweetly

Has the Wind stop blowing?
said the frog with fearful croaks

Can you hear not its whispers to the tree?
Can you feel not how it moves it to the roots? Asked the ant.

To which the frog with a jumped replied,
Croak! I hear the winds,
But I also feel how the trees
shake in fear.

In a moment, a bird came flying by and while fluttering its wings said:

I hear not
I see not

But I feel the Wind, its gentle touch.
I feel the wind, it's refreshing love.
I simply feel that there's nothing to be afraid of.

To which the ant replied,

That's because if your tree were to fall,
If your ground were to be Shaken up,
with your wings, a blessing of The Lord,
you can fly anywhere else
and find yourself a home.


....

To be continued

Every so often, I wait for your reply,
Here, feeling the keys in my keyboard,
As if the clicking of the keys is telling me
what you have yet to reply,

And I wait,
And I wait,

With fingers in my keyboard, just typing,
unaware if I should send another message,
Or if I should wait

And wait

Till you reply.

You are too young and too much of an amateur
to be looking for clues where there are none.

instead, my dear,
just do what you have been doing all along
write what you feel, feel what you write,
and let your imagination run wild

in due time,
you'll come to know
where creativity
is born

I am

Ready to crawl with my soul
And sneak under my sheets
I want to hide and stay still...
No, I just want to sleep!

There's no day I wish to rest
Except when I feel fully alive:
Awake widely,
Rested - feeling filled with peace,
Seriously, that is not the case.


December 25,2016

Oh mother gracious!
What is this?

----

I once had bliss!
But now?

----
Ah, spit. Spit!

----
You were like a dish set up on a table.
One that was meant to not be taste by me!

But oh dear goodness gracious!

---

Please. Spit. Spit!

----
for years,
I hungered for a little bite of you.
I indulged, and now,
Just look at me!

I am round like a circle
Circling the table
Biting
more
And
more
Of
You


I want to finish you till the last bite
but I also want for you to last forever more!

I want to be filled by you everyday,
But I don't want to ever feel completely full!


It's just that you are like this!
Some dish!


And now, all I want to do is

Spit. Spit!

Oh Nay!

I just want to eat.

a race car
Zig zagging
on freeway

You are like the light that passes through my eyes
You are like the lenses that corrects my vision
And I would like to wear you every day,
And I would like to never remove you from my head
But everyone needs a space,
And from time to time, I just remove you as if you were my glasses,
And I place you in a safe place,
Where no one could harm you, nor hurt you, nor shatter you,
I just remove you...
I remove you from my head,
And I place you in my heart
to keep you safe

And I like that...

the songs we sing
are nothing but notes;
just knots in our chests,
melodies in our throats,
that ache to be heard
that yearn to unknot themselves
from our vocal chords
from the symphonies
of our thoughts.


Nov 30, 2015 8:34 pm

I'm once again, falling in this depression.

I was told don't walk too close from that crater,
Many have been excavating the truths from this Earth,
Men have searched for the mysteries of the heavens
And look, how deep their excavations have become

Now Fear, the height. Fear, the depth.
For if by walking too close from that crater,
(That deep crater that you see there!
With no end...)
Your foot may trip and with your foot
your whole body may tumble down
Into that hole of vastness

You'll find yourself falling in desperation
Just falling without fully comprehending
the depths found within the walls of that crater.

And while falling, you'll pray to reach the end!
But there is no end, no bottom, no nothing,
You'll fall and fall, helplessly, and in lamentation

You'll try to hold from anything, from any rock,
your hand will try to grasp from anything, from any rock,
But there's nothing, just a hole of vastness

A vastness
That your mind won't be able to comprehend
And you'll be falling, and falling,
in this depression.

But if you are walking too close from this crater,
And it's not just curiously that accompanies you,
Then be prepare to excavate and explore,
Not just the walls but
the depths and the vastness of this crater.

If not, you'll fall and fall,
But all you'll find is nothing.

Why must I write using imagery?

Should I paint words as if those words
were canvases?
Should I paint words as if by coloring them,
I could draw the eye of the reader into my poems?
Should I just paint and paint words
for the sake of painting an image
into the reader's mind?
Should I?

Ah!

Should I just paint words for them to see
what reality does not allow them to see?
Should I paint words for them to feel,
what reality does not allow them to feel?

Or Should I just paint words and become an artist, and don't care about anything else, not about me holding a brush, not about me, having colors,
Just about me, painting what I see,
What I feel, while I paint words with whatever I have in my hands.

Should I?

Oh sweet, delicious nectarine,
that from a tree, you fall to me,
like once love did...
Should I safeguard you in my hands?
To rot forever with my flesh?
Like once love did...
Or should I bite and feed from you?
To taste you whole and fall for you
Like once you did to me....
Oh sweet, delicious nectarine,
Why do you do this to me?

a bluebird
sings at night
lovers kiss

Would you be THE one
My star, so bright, so far
Up high, above the sky,
Just shining through the dark
For me to see at night?

Would you be the one,
The guide I yearned to have
The one that lights the path
towards Jesus Christ?

Jan 2016.

Is it possible God...
That we are like flour being sifted?

Has this flour of ours
been sitting upon the sifter of time
just sifting the clumps
that accumulated from keeping
the flour of ours
unmoving for a long time?

Must, we, be in a constant movement?

Could it be...
That each of us is a particle of that flour,
separating evenly, removing the lumps,
So that we all, together, could be baked
into a perfect loaf of bread?

Or could it be...
that each of us is like a package of flour
that must be sifted?

February 26, 2015

First, I was a can of soda,
bubbly and sweet,
but later, I was a can of soda,
that became squashed by your feet.
Empty and with nothing else to give,
someone found me,
and recycled me
to become a keychain in their hand.

a boxer
boxes men
in a ring

What if I told you,
That when I sleep, I like hugging my pillow.
And what if I told you,
that sometimes, when I sleep,
I like feeling my pillow in between my legs
and not just in my head?

What if I told you,
That my blanket covers me from the cold
but that it is my pillow,
the one that helps me feel safe?

So what if I told you
That that pillow is you and no one else?

Our love were weeds just growing strong with time
In fields that people often dare not walked.
Therefore, we lasted long, our love survived.
In fields that people then began to watch.

Our love then grew with winds that changed our life
As squalls began to break our stems in halves
Therefore, we lasted short, our love then died
when roots became uprooted off the ground
In fields that people then begin to walk.

Tonight, I don't see the moon outside my window,
there's not weeping tree covered with snow,
there aren't any clouds above the sky looking like pillows,
yet I can't help but dream about some weeping willows,
those trees, that I would like to see outside my window,
as I embrace, laid on bed, my own pillow,
as I laid on bed, embracing sorrow,
wishing to see a weeping willow outside my window
covered with snow, covered, looking like a pillow
to embraced, to hug, to feel the coldness of my sorrow,

awake me from dreaming of a weeping willow.

Do you think I'm random
When I speak randomly
About any random subject
That jumps into my mind randomly?

Do you think that I can randomly think
without randomly choosing
what I would say randomly?

Or do you think that I can randomly think
While I randomly choose
What I would say randomly?

Having faith does not mean to not question or to not have doubt

Having faith is questioning and doubting but still remain certain that despite the odds everything will turn alright

Having faith is like having a pillar by your side in which you can recline to watch how things will turn out after you have done whatever best you could.

Having faith is trusting God will help you but also trusting in your own self to help yourself for God said "help yourself that I will help you."

You how the clock ticks?
well, it ticks.

I was at the store storing soda bottles,
tuna cans, and tomato sauce
all in plastic bags

The cash register beeped.

-Cash in. Cash in-

From tight jeans, I pulled wallet up.
I grabbed credit card.
I paid the total price amount.

Then the clock started to tick

beep beep beep

Just like the cash registered

-cash in. cash in-

Like a ring around your finger,
I remained with you
Until you removed me

until you lost me

I'm a selfish creature. A human...
I can't blame myself for that,
But I'm a selfish creature with a choice,
To be selfish or unselfish,
And for my choice, I can blame myself.

Then do whatever boils your beans,
Do not ask me for a ***,
Nor for a stove,
Don't ask me for a flame,
I have all but clearly you want none

Go figure how to boil your beans
on your own

Listen brother,

no matter what, I am a lit candle on the table of time:
burning, melting,
until the winds of destiny blow up the flame of my life.

thus no matter what, I'll be with you to lighten your dark times. Just keep me close on the desk of your life. I'll help you see what you can't see in the dark.

I'll be with you. Until I die.

I met the sword on my saddle today
I took it out
And I swayed it to the air
As if with its sharpness, it could cut
even the oxygen that you breathe,

But too foolish, I was,
to just swayed it and swayed it to the air,
I should have kept it in the saddle,
And just breathe the air

February 24, 2015

Sometimes,
I feel like an old soul trying to find rest
Just rocking my chair
To and fro
To and fro
To the rhythm of the day
To the breeze that greets my hair
To the lightbulbs in the porch
To the moon above the roof
To the squirrels in the trees
Just to and fro
Just to and fro

L.L.

Nov4

with hands in pocket
a man shrugs to gravelly days
feet kicking pebbles

May thunders and lightings fall upon my bones, I want to become dust,
I yearn to be home,

oh heaven oh heaven
Or hell

Could them be my home?

I feel lost in these streets that I have crossed, i feel like I walked trough fire but I did not get burn,
oh god I feel, I feel and it hurts


But it's not my skin that aches,
not my heart but my soul,
It hurts

Thus thunders and lightings fall upon my bones, I want to become dust,
I want to be home

Or rather I want to be nothing

Just gone.

I don't know
My brain is not working
It said,
"the answers are within yourself"

But God,

I repeat, my brain is not working.

I believe our intellect is the key to goodness.
But God, how do we upgrade our intellect?

Is it possible God, that we are all connected to you - through our faith, that is like an umbilical cord,
And in order to grow, at some point, this umbilical cord must be cut?

Is it possible God, that we are on earth
Just to form ourselves? That we are some fetus developing in a womb of Mother Earth? And that when we are born, we are no longer connected to you, through this faith, someone cut the umbilical cord for us?

And while in her womb, Mother Earth nurture us with her love and takes care of ourselves? But we stretch inside of her as we develop, grow up, and hurt her in the process instead?

It's all part of growing up, right?

But is it possible God, that our connection to you - our faith, is only a means to feed ourselves when we are unable to do it on our own? Just like the Fetus that feeds from the mother, and still feeds by the mother upon growing up until he can do it himself?

Or God, is it possible that when we are finally born, we will be in heaven, we'll die on Earth, but our faith will still remain with us through our navel, our connection with you will have been sealed the moment our umbilical cord would have been cut?

Is it possible God, that our intellect is the one that will allow us to be born into heaven instead of just being a miscarriage that poisons our Mother Earth?