I am not hard to love
I am not unreasonable
And I don’t distribute headaches
Like candy
When I wish to express my emotions
I simply express
I am allowed to voice
My thoughts
My opinions
If it is a concept you cannot grasp
Take the problem off my back
And dig deep within yourself

You're reeling me close,
A fire's soft embrace,
I drift toward your warmth,
And feel it burn my face.

In the stillness, you type,
While the stars softly weep,
And with every word,
I fall, in love so deep.

We have had our share
Of refugees fleeing from France
They're great aren't they?
And the Chinese and West Indians
Also great
And more lately - the Africans
And other dialects, so colourful
So intriguing
I want to stop the people
In the street
And ask from whence
Did they originate.
I like to walk around town
And see how long I can go
Before I hear any English.
My friends always encouraged me
To get out more
Experience new cultures
New languages,
But I don't need to now
Abroad came to me.

Clear the way!
Can't you feel the rain?
It is soft now,
But it bares its bite.
Clear this road so the carriage men may run,
Gather your families, be ready to leave.
Here it comes,
The storm! Can't you see?
Don't you feel these winds ripping up this land,
Get away while you can,
Or die with the land.

En los claustros del Alma la herida
Yace callada; mas consume hambrienta
La vida, que en mis venas alimenta
Llama por las medulas extendida.
Bebe el ardor hidrópica mi vida,
Que ya ceniza amante y macilenta,
Cadáver del incendio hermoso, ostenta
Su luz en humo y noche, fallecida.
La gente esquivo y me es horror el día;
Dilato en largas voces ***** llanto
Que a sordo mar mi ardiente pena envía.
A los suspiros di la voz del canto;
La confusión inunda el alma mía;
Mi corazón es reino del espanto.

Gentle breeze
Midnight blue
Trees of all sizes
Lined up very fine
In a  unique way
Loving the atmosphere
Looking forward
To each summer day
Brings warmth to my soul
Gentle breeze
Clears my mind
Midnight blue
Hues of sky
Lightens my day
Gentle breeze
Clears my mind
Midnight blue

It felt weird
when my heart
left its type
and fell
for a whole
new font
that read
differently

twist and turn
scream and burn
take a match to my mind
trapped
and still i yearn

It’s so simple to live happily,
To enjoy life, avoid misery,
Just follow the simple ways of life,
With understanding and empathy.
It’s not really very difficult,
Just leave your egoism behind.

Dreams too many
they create misery:
the person is drowned
in his whim and fancy

give me one only
I'll work on it diligently
I'll wait patiently
for its maturity

the sky so hauntingly beautiful
with all it's different faces
so pale and grey and somber
so vibrant and orange and joyous
so dark and purple and mysterious
so bright and blue and carefree
the sky has many faces
they change at will
with the change of the wind
the colors shift to show it's emotions
the sky so hauntingly beautiful

no one is coming
to save me
but that's okay
because
i am coming
to save me

Pasos de vidrio
y vida en metamorfosis.
Exquisito de ingenuidades
que convergen como manantial.
Así caigo en el abismo
que todos llaman amor.

hey baby.
I'm sorry we had to meet like this.

I wish I could wear pretty nightgowns
And frilly things

Instead, I'm in bed with night frowns
And silly thinks

Even the smallest warm interaction with other people counts.

There is no ceasefire, not in Gaza, not in Lebanon, not in Sudan,
but only genocide...
aggression...
war...
blood...
slaughter, and pain.
The West Bank continues to be under siege... met by tanks, death,
threats...  
Families are met with bullets to their head.
The children are met with amputated limbs.
Children are left orphan... and forgotten.
Communities are met with too many martyrs to grieve...
Where is this ceasefire now?
There is bombardment in Yemen too, directed by the West like a true imperialist.
If one dare to rise up and resist, are met with an iron fist by the international colonizer community, given consent to **** with no impunity...
Dare the amputees speak....
Dare the bullet to the head speak...
Dare the orphan speak....
Dare the resistance speak of their own pain...
There is no ceasefire, but only genocide.  
Where is this so-called ceasefire now?
Nowhere in sight....
Where is the anti-war movement?
Nowhere in sight.....
What happened to the anti-war movement?
Nowhere in sight….

Sickness.
A middle ground between
A life worth living
And a life sequestered
From the worth
Of living.

Hallowed be thy strength,
Calling forth a certainty
That life will remain.
Preserved, teaching
Lessons of perseverance,
Stagnation and decay.

If only strength
Was strong enough to
Keep sickness at bay.
Falter faster, with ease,
Conveying a simple,
Yet efficient mean.

Time slips, memories fade.
Strength gives in,
An internal raid
Fills the void
With a void,
Yet how surprising

When you were never loved.

And
suddenly
the
music
stops.

What if I’m not enough
for
  you?
I know that I’m not enough
For
  You.
Is it too much to ask
For praise,
  a smile,
   a laugh?
But I’m met with silence
And it’s breaking me down
When will it be okay?
When will you at least
glance at me to say
That I’m anything worth
acknowledging?
Is my effort in vain?
Am I walking the wrong direction,
Or was there never a right path in the
First place?
Do you hear anything I plead,
Or was I never talking to you at all?
To a brick wall?
No,
To the empty expanse of void where there’s
  No
   one
To hear my words
Except myself
I want to hear your voice
But I can’t
Because at this point
I can’t hear anything.
Not because I’m deaf
But because you were right
And I got tired of my own
                                                Voice
But for my sake,
For my life’s sake,
Is it too much to ask
That you’ll wait for me at the end of the tunnel
And tell me
That that light
Was ever a chance worth taking?
Or
Was it never meant
for me at all?

After every regular salah,
I prostrate and supplicate other duas(prayers),
I find peace in HIS presence.
17/3/2025

When it comes to us, I’m chasing the wind
I’ll never catch up and there is no end
This safari into the unknown
Destiny propels me into the love zone

Where does the wind come from?
I’d sure like to know
It just arrives, then off it goes
Don’t be left behind
Or you’ll never know
It carries us
A mystery show

Ah, the wind
The mighty wind
Here we go with it
Into the sky
The mighty wind
Taking us in
Don’t even ask why

A poem a day keeps the doctor away.
Get flowing and pay tribute in text
don't get vexed that you're now in a challenging place
just relax and give it your best.

The turbulent scene is a flurry of fiends
but you're fine if you write the lines
you'll be safe from the clutter and strife of things
as long as you put in the time.

Do I rhyme, do I rhyme, do I redefine?
With the keys that I clatter
do I shape black matter
do I channel the ink, do you think?

Well I try, I permit
for a time I will sit
and get to the bit
where I rhyme on the slither
of white placed before me
the colour that bores me
until the words hit.

There's a little
boy that hides in
the dark corners of
my soul.
He doesn't want to
be hurt anymore.
I spent eight years
with Beth.
For the most part,
it was hell and
constant pain.
She made nightmares
look good.
I heard the
little boy cry
late into the
silky night,
while snails got
smashed on the streets
of Ventura.

When I drank, which was often,
the little boy seemed
at peace for awhile,
while swans were
murdered in Venice,
and I tasted the ashes
of Neruda.
Years flew by
like seagulls;
up
down
and darting.
The little boy
continued to
hide in the
dark corners of my soul.

He wanted to
come out and be loved.
He was thirsty for it,
but there wasn't
any around.
It was dry, like the
deserts in hell.
It's too late for
sorries here comes
the plow.

He began to see
the pattern of life.
Some monsters walk in the light.
Vulnerability equals pain.
The little boy got mean.
And now he carries
a knife.

Even glory bears degrees of welcome--

not every wake is left indefinitely.

Try as it may, the ocean cannot

disinherit waves that fail to further

its glory.

Ones own face is too many lives in,

not to appear guilt-ridden.

Mistaken identity is a guarantee--

historicity recycles attributes.

On the otherside of things, one has

enough personal relations to populate

the globe.

Which's why roosters can't unhear

dawns like rehashed blood in tepid

water.