let me find respite under your stealthy coat,
running from the dreariness of noon
and the troubles of the day,
to the mystery of stygian darkness,
the visit, i come to pay.

A poem is only a poem,
words threaded into strings.
It has no purpose,
no cajoling,
no hidden desire to win.
They are mere lines of faulty judgement,
unripe thoughts,
born out of chaotic dreams,
spontaneous dreams.
Whimsical whims.
Whimsical whims.

Don't try to find a pretext in a poem,
you'll be awfully dissapointed.
There is no need to decypher the wording,
unriddle background conformity.

One doesn't intend by writing a poem,
to conqure hearts,
or accomplish a remarkable feat.
Poem doesn't need to be acknowledged,
it has own life to live.

A poem is the most pure gesture,
done with no implicit thought or vile intention.
It is a token of soul,
candid simplicity,
the most heartfelt conjecture.

only the sense of fleeting time
and the fact that i am almost twenty nine,
years spent,
wandering half a life,
makes me pretend to be wise,
though i am still a careless child,
fond of tales and flirty rhymes,
heedless to the warning chimes,
i can't be different,
nor i can be nice.
No i dont expect you search for me, girl.
for i am not a treasure or a pearl.
read my writings if you want poison for the soul.

this shifty wind on a sunny day reminds me of lonely future,
about time when i am singled out,
left by friends,
abandoned by parents,
deprived of expectations and certainty,
once abound.
its soft, mild, tender,
but killing
what i am willing today,
for tomorrow i am wary.
though content with now seclusion,
i dread it in a minute.
society scares me,
so i detach myself to a place and moment where am free of doubt
and commitments,
but sooner or later i'll need the believer,
one happy to bear the weight of my feelings,
who's no more than a dreamer, awaiting to surrender his soul to a preacher,
ready to turn into disciple of my ****** ideas.
it is so clear to see through the broken veneer,
how twisted my mind,
how strong is the fear.
‎come closer if you wanna see it. things what i am proud of,
‎stuff, that ive built
is the mash of sorrow and guilt.

This life hardened me well,
deep to the core.
It killed my senses,
compassion,
empathy,
but the passing of mother knocked me bad,
took away my vices,
and left me defenseless.
As if brought to infancy again,
i began longing for that warmth
and care,
so familiar and dear.
I searched to hear the voice,
that blessed me every day,
for what i was and wasn't,
for the trembling glance,
that loved me without doubt,
with no bias and no tout.
I felt, i was unyielding.
I thought, i was strong,
but the passing of mother left me stricken,
    alone,
in the wilderness of this world,
among the cold faces of gloomy neighborhoods,
where no light of her kindness can find me.
Will i learn a lesson.
Will i find the truth,
though no flush of joy can heal these wounds.

You came to me around a time
when i was extremely vulnerable,
stripped to the feet of my soul,
you struck me to sunder.
I was captivated by the radiance of your spirit,
for i was blind.
My thirsty and depleted mind fell prey to your magic,
your play of words,
your dance of thoughts.
I had no means to defend.
I was hopeless before your charms.
This came,
for i was always drawn to mysterious spirits,
ones originating contagious wisdom,
who talk through glances,
who laugh with eyes.
what is more pleasant than a discourse of mates,
fallen in love with each others mind.
I feel,
I could lay down my life for the unlocker of my soul,
who splashes back my reflection.
Why is so hard to find the sighted.
All around me are men
in darkness
with eyes wide open,
foreheads perennially knocking the wall.
I'll keep wandering,
for it is the best i can.

can you love me for what i am,
with all my complexity and indecision
with all my faults and speckles,
my near-sighted imprecision

could you not put me on the social stratum,
looking through the lens of meritocricy
not to count my posessions and achievements,
level me with bittersweet verbosity

can you spare me of doubt, that clouds your relative judgement
see with all my ugliness and ridicule
love as days go by
as joy subside
as colors turn bleak
and darkness arise.

can you accept my immature writing,
filled with ill-arranged words
or the way i talk through stutter and occasional sighs.
forgive my incapacity for kindness,
awkward attempts to win your heart.