Zodiac signs have failed to tell
of an epoch of limerence waiting ahead
neither could a compass navigate
a homesick constellation to its rightful cell
and yet I travel, swim, and tread
on a glimpse of you
on a foreign thread
on a beacon of fury to accommodate
Epiphany emerged
the world’s ablaze
mnemonic particles floated again
Astral projection took its toll
your skin reached out and took the fall
I oft hear sounds; my sonorous wails
my sword-of-a-body
and my serrated edges
drove them away
but there you were
a scabbard of steel
to engulf and congeal
to hold and to heal
Alpha Cephei has got nothing on you
you became the star that ruled the Earth
the right hand of the northern pole
the right hand I chant my paean for
you were 49 light years away
until you adhered to my directions
My roots will cease to loosen their grip
on your light rays and elysian touch
on what I crave, yearn, and long
for you are the home that got me stuck
and you are the space where I belong
Mar 13, 2020
Mar 13, 2020 at 4:09 PM UTC
"Measuring the flour, cutting off the surplus, adhering to rules, to rules, to rules."
Baptized once again at 31
you were dressed in an apron of glory
purple-inked and gas-filled
a ******** carved inside your head
Withering in the basement at the age of 10
you took the blade as a best friend
a walking miracle, a providence
you were a tempest of silent wails
Ariel has made a banshee out of you
the world is going up in a shriek
but your head never went with it
an epoch later; you're in holy flames
A golden lotus crescendos in the ground
stripped of the chance to see your Ariel grow
the bell jar is inhabited by some
my patriotism has been ablaze
O' American Isis
I grant you now the discretion you desired
you don't have to adhere to rules anymore
The universe is coming by your side
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 4:37 PM UTC
I have been seeking a moment when
My paean would see the light
A melody when your serrated laugh
Crescendoes and obviates all evils
But what I'm truly wishing for
Is to be a scabbard to your sword
The bell that wakes you up at noon
A hymn that you know by heart
And the rituals that you adhere to
Tell me how I could shield
The furtive rhythm of your chords
To venerate the echoes of your fingertips
And be completely absorbed in your silhouette
I am proclaiming my paean
That seems five months of age
But in fact it has been decades
Trapped amongst verses and rhymes
If Hemingway was exchanging breaths
You could be his martini glass
Or the obsession of Shelley with Keats
Or maybe a beer bottle on Hank's grave
But the golden lotus has been outdated
For you are my fierce flames
To sanctify and to revive
And unlike Plath I'm living to see
When my paean would come to life


Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 4:23 PM UTC
I wanted to speak of his powers
As King preached for liberty
The world seems to know of legends and Englishmen behind platforms
of heroes and villains on stages
and maybe of some med students explaining how unprotected *** leads to ***
But tongues have not yet spoken of his rampant ability
to be a beacon and a tempest
how he could raze and raise
abate and abet
I wanted to tell them
Why the soil recall his footsteps
And the leaves hiss as he exhales
But he dresses in polyester and he even walks unmasked
Everyone speaks of anarchism and GMOs
Then fetch a beer and watch the football game on live stream
I wonder if roses are cowards which embrace their raspy thorns
But then I remember how I would grasp you in a heartbeat
And I wanted to tell the world of your powers
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC
A poem was always supposed to heal, or to help; at least in a way or another.
But this time is different, not even Rumi can do the work.
My mind is in a blank state-it has shut down.
With a trembling body and shaking wrists
Stealing glances and guilty kisses
Amongst each panic attack I drive through
I sense your sighs and get charged
Then see your phone screen and drop down
My nerves are threads ablaze
She has bigger eyes, her body is steady and so are her wrists
But she does not admire that surgical scar of yours
I seek refuge in it and that's the problem, I guess
She claims ownership, it is her right after all
She is priority
You write her name on every bill board
And I hold the ladder for you
You are writing my death note, you know
But these matters are small
For your phone screen will still glow
With messages that will make you grin
She demands ownership, it is her right after all
As I fight Gods to get those grains of sand you once stepped on
But she is priority, she is royalty.
This is not a poem, it is a tribute
To the time when I breathed you in and you breathed me out
We could have breathed forever
But my cells are attacking one another
And my mind is in a blank state
I have already mentioned that
But you see, I can not hold that ladder anymore
And I am in no state at all
Not one of priority - obviously.
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 12:15 PM UTC
I shall embalm the stars and hang them at your girdle,
There where pansies lie; free and mobile.
And I shall dress you in mountains,
Hoping that immortality and rise;
Would profoundly suffice.
But I don't have the means to do
What my senses inspire me to.
Thus, allow me to write you
In words more naked than flesh
With blood-drops; raw and grandiose.
Allow me to embellish the linings of your skin
With sacred letters and ambiguous hints.
I will meet you one day
At dawn or morn,
And we will foresee our radiant yore.
To the one I deeply venerate,
To whom my affection is inordinate.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 7:30 AM UTC
It roams the streets,
That archaic figure - unaware of that voyage.
It is skinned, a little pale perhaps.
Seeking a beacon, a red light.
Amongst the people.
They are numbers.
They never tend to amaze me.
But there is something difficult to comprehend about that flesh; that tongue; the earthly scent of your mouth.
I roam the streets; how finite that voyage seems.
Your hometown; your current workplace.
They are not real, they are not you.
However, I am you - your keen countenance; the inked unsolvable equation.
It is jubilant - clutching your skin like a saviour.
Prepare your dirge,
Prepare the pansies.
My bones are leaving; my fingernails - weakening.
I am perilous by too much soul.
By the smoke that is reaching out.
My last forlorn attempt is not foreseeable.
Find me before I find myself.
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 8:08 AM UTC
Eight months since I have seen
Green oak trees and glowing kites
Pale blue skies and star-crowded nights
Eight are the layers of pain
that have not seen any light
Eight are the loaded pistols of nostalgia
stacked on my shoulders
What is Eight?
To some; legs of a spider or that of an octopus
But Eight is the number printed on your football jersey
Maybe Eight are the cookies in that rusty jar;
But Eight is the day
of the eighth month
when you followed my paths
When the cold breeze hits me
as I smoke my eighth cigarette
and travel back in time
to when I rose in your love
up to the eighth sky
a rainbow of seven fears hit me by
and a force of friction dragged me back
to fall back in love with you
deep into eighth ground
*To the Eight I've always favored
I bitterly make a toast
Here's to the only number
that now I loathe the most*
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC
I shall write
But my papers can not endure the spilling blood
Seven months have passed since I last saw your face
The two steps that separated us
Are now replaced by a thousand miles
and I stand like a handicapped
I shall wait
When waiting is a sin
And death might lie behind my curtain
You will live
You will live
You will live on
My poetry will be your home
The letters will embrace you
You will live and thrive between the arms of my syllables
And my tears shall put you to sleep
You will be read
You will be read between the lines
You will be read in my lousy handwriting
You will be read in my failed attempts
and you will be seen
You will be seen in the color of my hair
you will be seen in all the black I wear
you will be heard
you will be heard in the songs on my playlist
you will be heard in my choice of words
and you will be heard, always, for you are the sacred name I swear by
Do not be afraid, my love
I will survive on the remains of the electric sparks you left in my system
I will stand as tall
as the mountain you dress in
and I will strive
to keep your memory aglow
But you will always
remember me
And I shall always
Keep you alive
I turn and burn
for my flames to keep you warm
and I welcome the bullets of distance
just to shield you from harm
for you I would walk
on water and on any sky
to sprinkle stars above your roof
and quench any weakening thirst
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 4:49 AM UTC
They asked me what it's like
to be in love with him
I said it's like the rotation of Earth
so familiar
like meeting the sunrise
each and every day at 06:34 AM
yet so new
like the solar eclipse
that occurs only once
after a handful of mundane years
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC