There's something about this rain.

There's water.
Not any other water.

They come from homes,
rooms, streets, anywhere.

This is what I need for the solitude;
For a man still burning like a church on fire.

its yur birthday
happy birthday
i miss u alot
i'm srry

I am a traveller,
On a journey down this road.
With sunrise in my eyes,
And the sweet moon on my tongue.
The green oceans teach me a lesson or two,
On the vices of humans, and apathy of women.
Lessons on greed, and my brethren and creed.
Holy cities with empty shrines,
With hopeless wanderers from the deep mines.
Of the mountains kissing,
A feeling of love and adore,
And the repentance of losing my sweetest darling, shrewd.
Loving again, my heart arose again,
Of shady currency in the land of shame.

The journey is meandering,
A course like the green oceans,
And a traveller I am,
Craving no hope to stay alone,
Only longing to go back home.

to all my fellow poets who were kind
enough to read my verse with the somewhat
forbidding title “not about you”
like it despite of it and
     more than that
elected it as Daily

as well to those
who sent nice messages
and greetings

I send warm thanks

you made my day

a sunny one
opened bright patches of blue sky
between wet clouds
and brought me better morning news
than any of my papers could provide

Merci once more

The smell of wood polish;
sprayed unevenly on the counter top,
brought you back to life.
Back down from heaven and earth into my mind,
where you had evaded me for the longest time.
An aroma of you.
My Great Grandma.
The Greatest Grandma,
I smelt that wood polish and your memory came alive again.
For one final time.
I closed my eyes,
I was a child,
and it was almost like
you came back to life.