Once upon a September night,
When breaths were taking flight,
To the upper parts of the atmosphere,
Where the fellow stars shine bright.

A soul was looming around a room,
Wishing the navy sky would turn blue,
Losing hope for a while there, 
Till a newborn sun came into view.

The soul then elbowed the eyes,
To take in this overwhelming sight,
Ray by ray the world awakened,
She'd then wait for dawn every night.

Sweat breaks and distraction ends,
The sun counting the time she's spent,
As orange pastels start to melt,
Soul watched sadly where she went.

And everyday the cycle was repeated,
A soul waits, watches as a day fleets,
Her sad sighs the only acquaintance
She's made with the moon beam.

After every sunset comes a phase
When soul and heart start to pace,
Whispering their heavy troubles,
To the dim moon's lonely face.

Acquaintances became stronger bonds,
As more blues started ranging on,
The night spread like a blanket,
The moon always had a soothing song.

Yet the soul remained captivated,
Sunrises and sunsets always awaited,
Till hellos are farewell were exchanged,
She spent the rest of the night sated.

She preferred a glow intense and warm,
Never grateful for the moon's arms,
A moon that forever stayed,
As the sun's always come and gone.

Hidden behind a treacherous day,
Never welcomed nor awaited,
No moon-rise nor moon-set,
Taken for granted cause he always stays.

Soul never knew the truth,
She'd diffuse all her sorrow to the moon,
He'd always shine never dimming,
Did the departing sun ever listen to you?


So why are we so mesmerized by the sun,
When the moon's always been the loyal one.

Eyes like it simple,

shrug

Just when it reaches that imaginary threshold of good,
It's overcooked.

shrug

We don't want interruption to our sleeping thoughts,
We just want a good night.

shrug

Eyes like flaws, eyes are the mothers of our young hearts,
They search for flaws, 
For reasons why they raised their kids better,
So they can smile to their neighbor and say the most superficial compliment.

shrug

So eyes just want to read a few words,
To convince the hearts they're leading that that's just what life offers.

shrug

Because when they train them, that they shouldn't trespass around a wider scale,
They will hate every masterpiece with a passion,
Sidestep it,
And pat mediocrity on the back.

shrug

Eyes like it simple,
... Oh but they don't,
They are the best of liars,
When it comes to shrugging.

I'm watching dreams coming true,
Hoping I might get struck by the lightning,
Or make a deal with the perfect timing,
But here I am standing in a downpour,
And my feet are getting muddied to the sidelines,
Walking backward to avoid the spotlights,
A ghosted smile to applaud,
The mugger of my drafted thought,
Making a home out of recycled art,
Afraid of the finish line, afraid of the start,
Watching dreams coming true,
Rockets launching out of the blue,
And all I speak is rewind,
Cassette tapes losing their minds,
Saying oh I could easily be that,
With lazy arms and folded hands,
Oh I'm so sick of sitting back,
Watching dreams coming true,
That every shooting star feels like a back stab,
Lost in the preproduction of a daydream,
This paper is my stage, the spotlight is the moonbeam,
Till one hand slips open the handle,
My door being open to the world is more than I could handle,
Every word is shaky, every feeling more like a scandal,
As if the world is about to end the next day,
I try to grab everything that comes my way,
As if I could balance two minds in one,
Open the next page before the last is done,
Juggling too many identities in one person,
Nothing is enough, haven't yet found the best version,
But they're fagments that don't match,
Maybe I should start from scratch..
I'm watching dreams coming true,
Hoping I might get struck by the lightning,
But it seems like there's no perfect timing.

Can the world stop spinning for a second?
For once, can I spend a full day with the moon?
The streets decorated by frozen people,
Emotion stolen from features that were starting to prune.

For every birthday candle that went bare of wishes,
I think now I've found something I'm so adamant to have,
A place where nothingness can echo all around,
And all tomorrow's thoughts can be left as rough drafts.

If only for the night, can I have the world to myself,
To draw the patterns of my dreams across the clouds,
Then when time rains, flooding the whole sky,
Maybe they will be set into motion as we reach reality's whereabouts.

The waves are mad,
They run like phantoms
Throwing the rocks off guard,
While they cling onto the shore.

As if they're avoiding the morning sky,
The sun smoking a burning cigarette,
Still fresh like a poem yet to be
written into the world.

I'm trying to prolong this solitude,
My mind like a used canvas,
Rummaging through the right thoughts,
To cross this stale river,
But they feel like repeated brush strokes.

Never like those birds,
Free with no calling direction,
Every word feels measured;
Not as bold as the ones
the water spoke.

Why does this wet paper
- a landing area for
the stray water drops -
Feel like an open coffin
to every newborn idea.

A sardonic joke played by inspiration,
To lead those unused words
to lay frozen in an infinite winter,
My need to create
an unanswered plea.

Maybe one last look
at the vastness ahead,
That could lead to another story,
Just waiting on the other side..

What would it take
to guide those scattered waves,
and patch this gap in telepathy;
To get this writer's block to resign.*

● ● ●

Gradually I'm losing interest,
Negotiating and bargaining
has ****** the energy out of me,
Every one of my reasons
has been worn out,
And the wind's wrath
has taken everything in its path,
What is left is lost
under masses of dust,
Excuses why the world
is on autopilot,
And we should sit back
And watch it burn,
Because it will burn
Whether we want it to or not,
My mind asks questions,
And what I'm met with
are not answers,
are not reasons,
I'm only met with white noise,
The sound of walking feet,
The sound of closing doors,
The sound of an empty well,
The wheels rolling,
And people sleeping and waking,
As if we're meant to learn
how to walk on this thin rope,
And never do more than breathe,
How am I supposed to sit down,
and persuade myself
that tomorrow I will try again,
I tried yesterday,
And I tried today,
But I'll always be painted
pink
and submission
in their eyes,
And I'll always be painted
"third world"
And "underdeveloped"
To the passerbys,
And sadly every color of those
is permanent.
I may not be the only one
with a breath left,
But the others who gave up
on their lungs years ago,
They're trying to mute
our sound of breathing,
To fill our lungs with soot,
To  mummify our sense of being,
To push us under the wings
of what is morally accepted,
The morals that are trending this year.
And I know it,
That eventually we will recede,
Just like history tells,
And just like I am about to
bow down and look at my feet,
And brush another crude comment
under the carpet.

A band of thoughts are attempting suicide at the periphery of my mind,
I'm just a wastebasket hiding behind pile after pile,
A fertile land for damaged possibilities and short-lived dreams,
A rainfall of time but at my alter the minutes just freeze.

A choice to end my head out of its inevitable misery,
Sell my dreams to pay my passive soul's endless fees,
Or maybe buy some time never mind how high the bill,
But all my solutions stand under the impossible.

And while I wait with static arms and sleeping feet,
The walls that are turning grey stare at me with pity,
A million moons have risen and a million stars have departed,
My head just needs to say the words to my heavy heart.

Visualizing the future when every possibility suddenly happens,
Is a castle of ice that just melted on my head all of a sudden,
It's the moment when my eyes look up and I take everything in,
It's now because otherwise it's gonna be ... when?

Amidst the flames,
The star wailed -

"Fate, oh, fate,

this isn't how 

the arms of the flames

shall flicker off 

my wait."

The murmurs of mortified stars
Blended along the curtains of sky,
Brushing the night with streaks of auburn,
As they shined their goodbye.

Fate replies,

"Tonight,

We shall cover thee,

in the shrouds 

of sacrifice,

Stardust coloring

the elderly night."

With one last frown of luster,
She - the star - found her deathbed,
Held high at the peak of the fire,
And the ashes of the story she bled.

•••• •••• ••••

On the opposite side of the mountain,
The moon sang of midnight on and on,
His words cherished for only one star,
One whom the late hours always adorned.

"I shall offer

my lullabies, your dowry

to the divine throne,

In the grooves

with more shadows 

than light

we'll be at home."

"Under my light

you'll never be dim,

In every galaxy

celestial bodies will bow,

The sky's a limitless 

ocean for you to swim,

Cause the moon

has found a temptress

somehow..."


A view of moths around a flame,
The indigo night turning orange,
The moon's face rendered forlorn,
To demand the news he gasped for courage.

Crowned with dawn appeared the sun,
And all the stars dimmed with fear,
The moon widowed from his only love,
Prayed this morning would disappear.

~ "Oh why ... oh fate,

I demand 

my star back."

~ "The sky shall

celebrate

your little star's

trip to the zodiac."

Replied fate punctuating his answer
With the awakening of the emigrant birds,
All traces of yesterday now gone,
All traces of his star nowhere to be heard.

•••• •••• ••••

Away from the world,
The moon wrote with silver ink,
He sang of the could have been's,
Of his star, he shall always think.

"In my mind

you've build 

your chamber,

For my eyes

you've ruined

beauty,

For I will always 

think of how 

you burned amber,

The whole 

universe now

So empty."

"The night 

inspired me

to become your hero,

During the day

I'd disappear

to chant my plans,

But fate 

made you

your own

Hero,

Before I was 

ever 

given the

Chance."

\\\\\\\\\\\\●●●●//////////////////////////

I will offer my brains on a silver plate,
Well done, medium, or rare, I shall comply,
All I ask is to have a grill of my own,
Or else I'll have no other option than my thoughts to fry.

With a side dish of spaghetti dreams,
We'll skip the pickles for something stronger,
I'll dice up ambition into nice polygons,
Cause maybe then the flavor will last longer.

With the finest of cutlery and napkins,
I'll fold every certificate I've ever been given,
You shall wipe the grease on the paper,
Until the absurdity of the years is driven.

Clink your glasses, devour the best of wine,
An elite of every drop of sweat in the expense of sleepless nights,
Ones spent toppling over determination,
But tonight I'mma wear a chef's hat and cook some peace of mind.

The Present -

She had both arms behind her head,
Her eyes two focused machines,
The soft glow of the lamp light,
A nonfiction book she silently reads.

Just as the clock striked ten,
All trails of thoughts fell silent,
She slept in the middle of the bed,
The sheets smelling of detergent.


- Two Years Earlier -

Twelve o'clock, the digital clock read,
Every light was on in her apartment,
She turned on the right side of the bed,
And stared at the plain cream carpet.

She tried reading something,
But every corner of this place was so unwelcoming,
As if remnants of the past resident souls
Still loomed around, their presence pestering.

With her new keys clutched in her hand,
She so quietly closed her front door,
Once her lungs were filled with fresh air,
It's like she finally reached a shore.

Aimlessly she passed block after block,
Till she found herself in a subway station,
She plugged in her earphones and closed her eyes,
Relenting to her doubts and insecurities in their collaboration.

"Laugh, I Nearly Died. Hmm interesting choice." A voice said,
Yanked from the heaviest sleep, she looked startled,
The stranger smiled, "I love The Stones too, I mean who doesn't..."
She smiled, but it was half-hearted.

She learned that he hated U2 and thought they were overrated,
And that he never slept at night, only slept during the day,
He marveled about how beauty dwelled in the darkness,
And how he didn't believe in coincidence, rather in fate.

At first she was quite, studying his every gesture,
Uncertain of this sudden turn of events,
But she soon found herself relaxing,
Not anymore keeping track of the time they spent.

He commented on how she looked nervous,
She confessed that she has moved into a new place,
And as the stars were lead to be more astray,
They were stargazing at the night's endless race.

The first rays of the sun revealed her lighter shade of hair,
They never once stopped talking as they roamed the streets,
Dawn whispered with promises of a shared breakfast,
But he suddenly smiled once then looked at his feet.

"I don't believe in cell phones, here is my email, do you know how to write an old-fashioned letter?"

He punctuated his sentence with a grin,
And it matched the growing one on her lips,
She was eager to agree but held inside her over-excitedness,
With a nod, she mumbled a yes and took back one step.

Flecks of orange reflected in his eyes,
She memorized their resemble to gold,
And suddenly all she wanted was to sleep,
And relent to her dreams as her reality revolts.


- The Present -

It was ten to six, she'd just returned home,
She sank in her warm couch, pulling her cat in her lap,
The air smelt of her favorite herbal tea,
She heard what felt like the crunch of a paper scrap.

It wasn't a paper scrap, it was something far less significant,
It was the letter, the one she printed and placed inside her diary,
Her cat was the only one to know where the stupid paper laid,
A reminder of a briskly short-lived story.

She detached her cat from her lap,
And detached the reminder from her heart,
It was easy like that, to unwrite a story,
Only in the folds of her mind was it a part...

"Every sailor knows the sea is a friend made enemy,
And every shipwrecked soul knows what it is to live without intimacy."

She hummed her favorite U2 song.*


T.B.C


(Maybe...)

It was blue

Mingling shades of blue

Swerving round the setting sun

Stray green herbs

Matching the life lines on their wrists

He said, "Take care..."

And then smiled

He smiled the way the sun whispered goodnight to the earth

With a promise that it won't be long till morning

The shore played the protagonist

In a beautiful lie

Bowing to the curtains of sand

Their shuffling feet

The applause from the only interested audience

And with one final nod

Her hands ached to go home

Home to the notebook stashed in the lower shelf of her dresser

To where the pen was eagerly waiting

The pages excited to be ravaged by ink

Because there, between the lines

Lied the secrets she spilt into the night

She'd already written the entry in her mind

But then she crossed the street

Waiting for the bus

Where the real world was colored in smoke

The streets crowded with foreign faces

Cats rummaging around trash cans

Balconies spilling the secrets of every house

Busy lives shouldering past her

Folk music covering the atoms of the air angrily

There was the sickest shade of grey

The one that hinted of lime yellow

That spoke of distractions and misery

That smelt of melancholy

It almost reminded her of cigarettes

The way she needed to be away from it

She held her head low between her shoulders

Hiding away from the few familiar faces

His image begging to be the last thing she sees

The dreamy waves begging to be the last thing she sees

The melodic breeze begging to be the last thing she feels

Before they make it down to the pages safely

What are we doing stifling flames,
Taming the wilderness with acceptance,
Handling life with kitchen mittens,
Following a bone to where the currents send us.

We live in a river doomed to have one shore,
And all the boats sail to infinity,
Only when the drought hits town
Do all the sailors part for the sea.

Art became something we're used to,
A design where every brushstroke has to fit,
Bold colors feel like salt in your coffee,
Cause they make the reserved eyes upset.

So every candle smells of forgiveness,
An act of worship for a new excuse,
You might wake up tomorrow or after 90 years,
And see that this paper can no longer be of use.

No one wants to be crowned "Coward",
But the rusty taste that colors 
your tongue after saying too much,
Is not a flavor one wants to have for dinner, either.

The jump that broke your bones,
For just a second, your mind was intoxicated,
And left the control panel to your heart,
But the aftermath is what shall linger and stay.

Maybe it's not about courage,
Maybe it's more than a closed-eye moment of bluntness,
Maybe you like the interior design of your mind, 
And you want to stay there with no intruders.

In the late hours of early morning,
Precipitations of the day before,
Lay there like caked makeup,
On a face waiting to be deplored.

The sun makes for a good shadow,
Blackening irises, making optimism crawl,
Then when the night arrives,
You see black spots on every wall.

Your soul develops a stutter,
Hiding away in the side of the moon,
Loneliness is not a disease,
It's a cure for a remorseful afternoon.

Down with every gulp of too sweet tea,
Every resentful thought is fighting to win,
Every second hand image
You see in the eyes of a foreign set of limbs.

You're yearning to wipe the world away,
Just to mask your green footsteps,
And when nobody's looking,
You'll bury all those versions of yourself that you've kept.

If you've read any of my texts,
You'd know that I'm obsessed
With those crayons of nature,
Also known as spectrum colors.


My life continues to unravel in each spec,
I've been in the Grey longer than you'd expect,
I was confused, uncertain and hesitant,
I was neither the black nor the white end.

I've also met the Blue and I sank to my knees,
With black circles and my forehead creased,
Eyes leaked, breaths suffocated and silence killed,
Dark nights trapped you against your will.

But I can't deny that I've seen the Yellow,
Curved lips, high on laughter that you can't swallow,
Bright days mingled with good friends and health,
I'd be ungrateful if I said I wanted anything else.

But I've always had my eyes set on that one color,
It's the last one and for me it is like no other,
It's the color of dreams, the pleasure of my head,
It's the very beautiful purple also known as violet.

And as you look closer, the journey is complete,
You meet all those specs with every step of your feet,
The grey, the Blue, the Yellow, those are the waves,
That carry your boat to the Purple dreams that you crave.

Far behind, where the moon turns its back,
We dream till it becomes prohibited,
We set the sails and watch empty bottles
Swim through rivers, only the dead fish inhabited.

We wake with a scream that gets drowned,
In the rattle made by feet willing to just walk,
Engulfed by the depth of this tunnel,
Where voices fade like words written in chalk.

Hungry eyes watching backs laying in the luxury of their chairs,
Black clouds following every peacemaker,
As if we're doomed to breathe different airs,
Just a penalty for the damage we did to nature.

If it's true, every person is a product of his environment,
Then watch us burn with our hopes accelerating the fire,
And with only ruins surrounding everyone of us,
To exist is to be prisoned, so to die is what we shall aspire.

The end of the week is tied to the beginning,
And I'm walking in the middle of the loop,
Trying to catch my tail, but I keep on failing,
So I pause my thoughts for a second, my mind needs to regroup.

I listen to the only man walking in the streets past bedtime,
Disturbing the hush of the quietly collected hours,
I don't need a tomorrow to be my ruler, metaphorically or literally,
Snatching them from their stems, I randomly pluck wallflowers.

The paper is anything but crumbled, its corners neat,
But when your pen hinders mine, it's another story,
I fall to the sky-less ground and accept your offer of momentum,
I always have an available casket for my pride to bury.

But when I only stare ahead, I pick that pen again,
I don't compromise, I only climb on my ivy conditions,
Every letter is in pain, as I avenge my sense of being,
Not even in the mirror do I feel this sense of recognition.

By means of my own minutes, I learn and relearn,
How to never color past the lines, and stop when it's needed,
Separate the second chances from the black clouds,
And when the tide swallows me, I will stay firmly started.

● ● ●

We're sitting next to a sunset,
The weather says how are you today,
Staring at the blue horizon,
For a moment you thought it'd stay,
But then it leaves like it always does,
And all the blue birds learn to fly,
Fueled by a sinking fear,
That they might disappear into the night,
When was the last time,
That it was okay, to be so juvenile,
A word lost in a closed book,
To judge life by a cover so beautiful.

We sat and talked in the looming warmth,
The sun's not gone, the waters are blue,
Tracing the peaceful tracks in our mind,
Twilight's shadow cast over the greys we drew,
And the dream was looped,
It started from the beginning every few seconds,
Dooming truths as illusions in this world,
Where memories are made from our favorite color palettes,
But oh sleep unlinked our hands,
As it branched into the shades of morning,
Once again your hair covered your face,
And our days went back to their habit of forking.*

● ● ●

All of her friends are reflective surfaces,
She is every verb, adjective, and noun,
Complimentary conversations as greetings
The words bitten will come back to hound.

Inspiration is the greenest form of envy,
By means of law, canvases should be handcuffed,
So that her every tide is a tsunami,
And the world shall fill their glasses till they've had enough.

Mountain rocks depicted with precision,
Her neck meets the outer layer of the atmosphere,
Her fork digs into words of appreciation,
A yellow smile beneath every crushed veneer.

In the jungle of artists striving for life,
Her nails are red wax tearing at every masterpiece,
And on every name she climbs ahead,
Till every deer is scared of her remorseless teeth.

Right
Is it a hand?
Is it a direction?
Is it a command?
Is it an intention?

What is right?
How do you know it?
Is it counted by numbers?
Or studied in schools?
Can it be outnumbered?
What are the rules?

Right
Is it a feeling?
Is it a *******?
Is it appealing?
Or a lame hallucination?

How can I be "right"?
When the world is divided into two?
Every pole is claiming it's validity
Some are too intrigued but don't have a clue
And some are sitting on sofas arrogating others' stupidity

So what is right?

And how come no one ever questioned this 5 letter word?

Everyone is focused but their sense of mind is blurred

You can read a book or recall something you've heard

But there's no magnet that pulls you to it 'cause that'd be absurd

Why then would you need a mind that interprets  
Everyone has a since of duty to something they want to protect

But don't they know that no color is like the other even if stirred

We come into this world and think that some things should be preferred

But that doesn't make them placed first, second or third

And now we're crowds walking like a group of herd

Right
Well...write
Til you can find a meaning to this concept and you might.
But stick to your pole, no need to fight,
'Cause we're humans we don't bite.
And nothing's black and nothing's totally white.

You don't know how much
I want to be honest right now,
To show you my hands
covered in ink and charcoal,
Take you to the untamable waves
where I bargain with life,
And sweetly tell you the tales
of my intangible ghouls.

I can imagine you'd be appalled,
your features cringing,
But maybe I don't dream
of fearless knights,
Maybe I only want you
to be the youngest of flames,
To reflect all my unfinished
and unedited lines.

You don't know how much
I want to be honest right now,
To give you the sails
of my titanic drawn on paper,
I'd wear my dullest of my pearls
with their rusty chains,
I just need to borrow your third eye,
I don't need a saviour.

A thought that persists
And deviates too much towards sanity,
That it's in a right angle
With my ever present morality.

Strong sense of grounding
Pulling me towards the roots of gravity,
And whisks my neck,
But I'm too immune to spontaneity.

Am I too right-handed
In my right side brain and my frivolity,
And when I gravitate,
I fall too fast from the towers of insanity.*


●  ●  ●

Sitting around the circular table,
Heads strung down with the realization,
That you have to come to terms again
With how temporary everything is
How the beginnings are only a means to an end.

The lamps are all shining bright together,
A rare occurrence for the living room,
Only adding to the seriousness of the situation,
The need to focus on what to do.

Wishing your hand was wide enough
To carry all the right decisions,
So that nothing could be out of hand,
Nothing could cross the peripheries
Of your man made plans.

You look up through the ceiling
And your heart does all the talking for you,
With every jab and every ache
It writes a paragraph with pure anger,
But then you plead with everything at stake

And with the first stripes of dawn,
You're pulled to your dark cold bed,
With pillows like rocks floating on water,
And covers that suffocate your body,
To close your eyes, you're just not ready
Not ready to let it go yet.

Shall I dwell in a blob of paint

Something so fickle...

With flailing arms I'll try to swim

in something so little...

Colored and indigenous

My thoughts will trickle...

And in this petty vividness

My eyes shall twinkle...

Till I create a river so infinite

So I never again feel belittled...

What's holding you back,
Letting the tension in your shoulders string you around,
Maybe dreaming as an action wasn't meant to be earthbound,
We were meant to live aloud and die quietly, life is in the sound,
Every step you retreat, will come back at night to hound.

When are you planning your attack,
In the theater of the wild you love to wear the deer's role,
Planting reasons in the dirt till the mutant rain falls,
Maybe you're waiting for further evolution to make you whole,
As you gather around you the corners of your mold.

Your mind is dizzy as you walk the same tracks,**
Revolving around the temples of monotony,
Getting cross-eyed and your stomach is feeling funny,
Your pack of thoughts forever remaining bundled in a colony,
In your world, the bare walls have never felt so *lonely.

In an artificial summer fever, grow young lives down test tubes,
A wide variety of mice to be tested, circulating around a loop.

Formulate a criteria, we want the cupcakes all the same shape!
And if the noise spills outside the peripheries, just use some tape.

But switch up the controllers, let Mozart play some metal,
Eyes should try to keep up with the feet on the pedal.

Each half of the good-evil twins trapped in mind arenas,
Let the villain be the one who tries to change the genus.

And redefine a definition for the concept of time,
Paint the sand clock as a monster who eagerly rewinds.

And as the fever causes more volatility, youth evaporates,
Save the ones who hold it together, they're in for the long wait.

In boxes made for shipping, we export the present,
To the Bermuda triangle where time is constantly reset.

Let's keep the players running, the experiment going,
The local fever is in touch with a bigger global warming.

And for the longest time we'll sell this antipyretic,
The world shall be high on a pulse permanently erratic.

And both covers reunited
With me in between,
For once
it wasn't claustrophobia
that I felt,
It was pure ecstasy,
My mess gathered,
and swept under
the small masses,
That are the yellow colored pages,
Carrying the scent
of something ancient
yet eternal.
Chasing every line,
Like it was my sole purpose in life,
To follow them until I was lost,
Derailed from my walk,
And that's where a far more
fascinating journey begins,
Right under
the brushes of fiction,
Where anything was possible.*

● ● ●

They say for a girl, sentiment wins over intelligence,
They say God gave her a heart, that'll be her guidance.

A man with yellow teeth, growling words out of a cigarette,
His lighter burns with each of his stares, he chuckles, "Oh why's the lady upset?"

He shows his son the world where only those devoid of emotion make it home,
His daughters are allergic to sunlight, he's building his son out of stone.

The fight has one face, the companions of the moon scarred by the night,
A man hides his dirt under a black suit but the lady shall wear white.

Because when she'll look in the mirror she'll see her mother,
And her mother will see her grandmother, hands wrinkled from serving her brother.

He said, "As your father I love you, but as a man, I'm meant to push the wheel,
Ask him to patch the holes of his socks, and what he'd like for the next meal."

Because sentiment wins over intelligence, isn't that how it works?
Make an extravaganza about respect, but only her heart it concerns.

And as one last word of wisdom, her mother taught her of vulnerability,
And warned her about how minds work, how they become a liability.

A table with shiny mahogany wood, that's where she sits,
She's having this conversation with time as it passes in seconds and splits.

And her name became an insult, one that dignity frowns upon,
Her future a ghoul, it's mere thought something she's running from.

It was amazing how they decided to diverge races of humanity,
Creatures shall live as predators and preys for eternities.

Amidst the flames,
The star wailed -

"Fate, oh, fate,

this isn't how 

the arms of the flames

shall flicker off 

my wait."

The murmurs of mortified stars
Blended along the curtains of sky,
Brushing the night with streaks of auburn,
As they shined their goodbye.

Fate replies,

"Tonight,

We shall cover thee,

in the shrouds 

of sacrifice,

Stardust coloring

the elderly night."

With one last frown of luster,
She - the star - found her deathbed,
Held high at the peak of the fire,
And the ashes of the story she bled.

•••• •••• ••••

On the opposite side of the mountain,
The moon sang of midnight on and on,
His words cherished for only one star,
One whom the late hours always adorned.

"I shall offer

my lullabies, your dowry

to the divine throne,

In the grooves

with more shadows 

than light

we'll be at home."

"Under my light

you'll never be dim,

In every galaxy

celestial bodies will bow,

The sky's a limitless 

ocean for you to swim,

Cause the moon

has found a temptress

somehow..."


A view of moths around a flame,
The indigo night turning orange,
The moon's face rendered forlorn,
To demand the news he gasped for courage.

Crowned with dawn appeared the sun,
And all the stars dimmed with fear,
The moon widowed from his only love,
Prayed this morning would disappear.

~ "Oh why ... oh fate,

I demand 

my star back."

~ "The sky shall

celebrate

your little star's

trip to the zodiac."

Replied fate punctuating his answer
With the awakening of the emigrant birds,
All traces of yesterday now gone,
All traces of his star nowhere to be heard.

•••• •••• ••••

Away from the world,
The moon wrote with silver ink,
He sang of the could have been's,
Of his star, he shall always think.

"In my mind

you've build 

your chamber,

For my eyes

you've ruined

beauty,

For I will always 

think of how 

you burned amber,

The whole 

universe now

So empty."

"The night 

inspired me

to become your hero,

During the day

I'd disappear

to chant my plans,

But fate 

made you

your own

Hero,

Before I was 

ever 

given the

Chance."

\\\\\\\\\\\\●●●●//////////////////////////

Curiosity was his best dress,
It best matched his green eyes,
A vast land of questions,
As if she had all the answers memorized.

"How do tears form?

From where do they come?

Is sadness a cloudy sky

And rain drops run one by one?

His analysis of his mother's breakdowns,
It was his favorite past time hobby,
While all the kids ran around in backyards,
He'd make theories on her sobbing.

"Are there different forms of crying?

On a scale of silent tears

to gut wrenching sobs,

The louder, the more sadness domineers?"

Every night he'd put his hand under her pillow,
He said he never wants her tears to go to waste,
Her broken heart mended to be broken again,
As she watched her 7 year old discover the world's sombre face.

"Does someone ever run out of tears?

Or does crying ever lose its meaning,

Can something only choose to be happy,

Or would it be called cheating?"

Sometimes she wished for a solitary evening,
When she could follow with her demise,
But every time she'd thank God,
For giving her a 7 year old of the best kind.

And for once she replied

"Did you know that heroes came 

in all forms, shapes, and size,

And before dusk turns into reality,

Wounds can be healed one last time."


● ● ●

I'm always envious of the way the sun finds its way to the big screen,
The way the characters' eyes would sparkle and their smiles would shine.

Yet this same sun, that has eternally fed our small planet with its kindness
Always fails to find its way to my smile, as if I don't deserve its generosity.

I'm always envious of the way the wind knows the shooting locations,
How it arrives on time, when the heroine needs a little volume to her hair.

Yet this same wind has always taken my breath away, in the literal sense,
It doesn't know that it should do exactly that to the person in front of me.

I'm always envious of the way the waves meet the shore in perfect transcendence,
In time for the opening scene, from the very first take by the cameraman.

Yet those are the same waves that engulf me with their salty scent,
And drown every sandcastle that I've ever fancied visiting.

And I'm always envious of how selectivity sends the moon
To where a fictional plot is taking place, to grace a fictional character from her fictional window.

Yet my midnight has seen no moon, just a blanket of nothingness,
And it spreads to my room where my mind dreams of living eternally on set.

You don't know how much I want to be honest right now,
To show you my hands covered in ink and charcoal,
Take you to the untamable waves where I bargain with life,
And sweetly tell you the tales of my intangible ghouls.

I can imagine you'd be appalled, your features cringing,
But maybe I don't dream of fearless knights,
Maybe I only want you to be the youngest of flames,
To reflect all my unfinished and unedited lines.

You don't know much I want to be honest right now,
To give you the sails of my titanic drawn on a paper,
I'd wear my dullest of my pearls with their rusty chains,
I just need to borrow your third eye, I don't need a saviour.*

● ● ●

To the waste land, we tread,
Following the presumptions of unanswered questions.

Rattling the pillars of a gazebo,
Where denial peacefully lies.

Through the glass,
We can no longer communicate, lacking all forms of expression.

Auditions for a silent play,
A fog settles over the redeemed skies.

Gasoline drenches the path,
Where we follow that one cancerous emotion.

And soon the infection is declared,
Images stripped back to their negative film.

The growls of hungry wolves,
Were only the surfacing clones of confusion.

But in the colors of dawn,
Everything was heightened, after a night so grim.


● ● ●

Why are all the colors becoming one shade,
The lighter and darker tones merging into one,
Same stare worn by different faces,
It's as if they have found yet another sun.

In the heat of the fight, the same thoughts are chanted,
And when they run out of paper the silence is amplified,
The voice of reason becomes a recording,
And the sense of right and wrong has officially died.

And when they turn their heads in that direction,
Why does that make the luster so dull?
Last night on the newsfeed, the minds eager
to grip their north as they scroll and scroll.

So the hearts turn to embellished stones,
A chameleon for when the medium is just right,
At the point of a finger, they turn to mush,
But at the absence of it, the eyes say an ignorant goodnight.

I'm aching to scream it, the human in me is still alive!
But sometimes I see me too, walking backwards down the hill,
Everything has become so tasteless,
The days predicted, the opinions formulated like a pill.