Sometimes a season comes
in a different way.
Sometimes there is a scent of flowers
you don’t see,
still making your day.
In life things can change in a second.
Live and feel intensely.

What a waste to hate,
to fight,
to lose faith and
to have all this wars.
Doesn’t everyone longs
for love, for peace?
This isn’t how it was supposed to be.




Shell ✨🐚

‘isn’t the sun warm?’  said the bear, ‘and look i speak in italics’



yes, it makes me feel better.



‘which the warmth or the format?’

Why forgive,
yet never forgiven?
Guilty—but my mistakes
Burn like oranges in my scent,


No reversal fate to heal
In yin and yang entangled ,
Only  closing eye
and stillness—
all sea turned dry

Oblation for love,
but it's unbearable consecration,
It’s not an altar
when it takes everything
you desired.

For chess’s dark or white piece—
why must it wound another’s peace?
For voids, no creation is needed;
emptiness speaks instead.

For sun’s warmth, so like life,
why must it burn the crescent moon at night?
Now imbalance grips too tight—
two halves never sealed in silence.
The dark embraced with resilience

preyed upon
judged
sentenced

folks without guns
babes in arms
male and female

made sport of
dehumanised
considered inferior

when my love pours beyond
the rim of the glass,
i won’t cry over spilt milk.

what is longing if not a drop,
pressed at once with cloth in vain.

let it run down the table’s edge,
a river of devotion.

and if it stains the wood, so be it
for what is love
if it leaves no mark?

let it rest in the grain,
a memory not meant to vanish
but to remind me, i once overflowed.


n.h.