The countryside spring murmurs no sin
The mountain hounds howl no judgment
If not cradled in a palace, death dies for the last time
If not imposed by a preacher, anguish becomes bygones
Wolves cry at night for a reason
Lose the guns, see them dance
A liberty made simple—a real spectacle
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 10:17 AM UTC
Gazing at you I trip.
The harder I gaze,
the more I dream about the cosmos
lying beneath the theatrics of your face;
The harder I trip,
the more I weaken my knees to witness
those zodiac signs reversing in pace.
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 11:24 AM UTC
After one solitary foxtrot
of the world around the sun,
I was taken by a gentle storm
to a secret bonfire
between a forest and an ocean
wherein nobody knew me
but the briny taste of the breeze,
the tight embrace of the nightfall,
and the familiar depth of your dimples.
Neither of the broken constellations
nor the remorseless rocks along the shore
were a picture perfect. None of the
language of apologies concurred.
But the sand was alluring us to stay
with the gestures of our lips gambling
an invitation to be sewn together;
a sin so unforgivable yet so prudent.
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 11:20 AM UTC
tilt one line
just a bit
a parallel will soon intersect
like how two
rivers meet
in a same basin on a same seabed
and how lies
are said
long enough to become correct
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 7:12 AM UTC
I once made love with you in my dream
A dream conjured by my sorrow
My sorrow expelled from yesterday
Yesterday—a mirage of tomorrow
Tomorrow that I don’t want to come
But come what may for I’m already tired
Tired from all the ******* I’ve never done to you
You
When will you know how much my hopes have undressed you?
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 6:43 AM UTC
the plate
of moon and stars
smothering up the sky
the clique
of colossal hills
murmuring meekly
the one-
toned shadow
laying aloof on dirt
each one
never stops craving
for me. How ‘bout you?
don’t you
ever want to
follow me, too?
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 6:39 AM UTC
A butterfly stays
in a king’s bush, laden
with blush roses—
an orphan of the garden.
Home of the yesteryear,
now thorn whips cracked
By old wardens.
Flee, you blossom flapping.
Flee, for your proboscis
seeks for sanctuary,
Not a casket.
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 3:10 AM UTC
he consumes his life counting apples from a mango tree
still thawing itself from a snowy bath
whereas
she wastes her growth as a ripened fruit in spring
waiting to be handpicked by him
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 11:28 PM UTC
You are not speaking
but I’m already listening.
I’ve been shouting out
your name from miles
that the echoes only fill
my mind. I keep chasing
the sprint of your voice
along with this selfish
space that keeps us apart.
If you never cared, never
noticed, never realized,
at least repay all the stares
I have stolen from you.
Feel the glances I’ve bitten
away from you. For these
starving eyes will battle
the pain in its gut until
you feed them with yours.
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 11:25 PM UTC