To forget someone
You need to remember first
And that's the odd thing

In a world full of  chaos, strive and pain
The best thing to do.
Is stay in your lane.

De tan lejano alcance,
tan agridulces recuerdos.

Recuerdos que me disparan
como ebrios mercenarios,
provocando vértigo a mi corazón.

Me esclavizan y me torturan,
como un látigo en mi espalda.

Borré las huellas de mi pasado,
para no caminar otra vez
con los pies descalzos,
por los mismos senderos espinosos
que dejaron dolientes cicatrices.

Lancé una moneda al aire
y jugué a la ruleta rusa
con tus recuerdos,
como si encontrara alivio en ello.

Suspiré tantas veces que sentí fatiga.
Fatiga dentro de mi pecho insípido.

Me sentí como un siervo herido
huyendo del cazador mortal.

Te niego frente a otras personas
para sentirme más fuerte.
Pero el fantasma de tus memorias
me persigue indómito.

Más te extraño
cuando mis manos alcanzan
las metas trazadas.

En las noches el vacío me consume,
como si ya no tuviera vida
desde aquel día en que me fui de ti.

Pero nada me quita el sueño,
porque no he vuelto a soñar.

Let us pretend
That we were nothing
But some casual affair
2 AM ***** dystopia
Just another night
To forget

Let us pretend
That years of silence
Can somehow bend
White lies into
Truth

Let us pretend
For burying regrets
Seems all there's
Left to do

tip toes to an imaginary line
drawn in the sand,
speaks in shadows,

tenderness, raw and sharp.

raised by wolves
she chews to the bone.

kiss the wind
my love is gone.

flesh became the silent cathedral
who whispers of bread.

the child's eyes
as black a veil as the Gaza night
have not tasted hope
                                                            ­            
and the multitude of the thin, faces sallow,
ghost the empty cooking pots
that offer Lilies

when hunger falls heavy
the moment before a scream
the sorrow sparrows grieve
what hell waits softly with silent breath.

once upon a time in the Holyland
the earth forgot to morn
and silence wrote the ending.

A strange pattern for
writing has come
to me lately.
The skeletons of
poems form when I
lie down for a nap.
Sleep always calls,
and bones want to
dance and grow skin.
Lilacs bloom, and I feel
the inner thigh of
eternity, soft and wet.

I can't get any rest.
I have to jot down the
notes or they turn
to ashes and blow away,
or, they are buried deep in
mud and slumber,
impossible to dig up.

I sleep with a notebook and
pen, as I drift off,
I whisper to the tortured
bones,
don't cry and try not to worry.
I'll bring you to life.