Beneath the brick, a crumpled note
ink blurred by rain:
No ******* milk tomorrow.

Signed,
in silence.

They asked him,
"How does one become a poet?"

He answered,
with the weight of stars in his voice:

"If you can read
the lines etched on your mother’s hands,
and the furrows folded between her eyes
then you are already a poet.

Go now
and savor the journey into madness."

They said: Be like us.
I said: Sorry my mother is a witch,
and I am the son of a delicious sin.
I'm not built for statues or titles.

As long as I’ve stolen nothing but hearts,
and wasted nothing but time
in the arms of beautiful women,
leave me as I am:
a blueprint for a postponed scandal.

As for the sheikh
he paused, cracked his back,
then said with a smirk:
“The world, my son, is three things:
A ***** that confuses logic,
A glass that makes logic forget,
And a cigarette... that burns logic altogether.”

We all laughed
then returned to lying,
as always:
In the name of morality.

I was born of soil, raised by sun,
and still, I love like a farmer does
with hands that plant, with hope that waits,
watering love in rosewater grace,
shading it beneath the aching heart.

But the harvest came too young, too bright
too soft to bear the fire of time.
And yesterday, it vanished
no grain to hold,
no word, no gold, no compensation.

have a cup of coffee,
or play the fool for a while.

Either way,
you stay true to yourself and your knowing.
And that’s what really matters.

So stir your mood
like you stir your coffee
just the way you like it.

Enjoy.

We met on the sea’s edge,
where moonlight kissed the tide.
We danced through the salt-heavy night,
drank sweet wine as you spoke
of a million myriads
stars, souls, or stories, I never knew.

Tipsy, tipsy,
till the dawn broke us apart.
And then you were gone.

Sailor, where are you now?
Do you whisper my name to your myriads,
the way you once whispered theirs to me?

Who wrote to you that night,
when I wrote you into my heart?

Tonight, I raise a glass to the sea,
and to you,
wherever the tides have taken you.

Cheers 🥂

Though the captain falls to fate or flame,
the ship shall not yield, nor drown in shame.
For the crew, bound by oath and star,
shall steer her true, no matter how far.

Storms may howl and shadows creep,
but loyal hands the course shall keep.
And evermore, through night and scar,
they sail her home, led by the gods afar.