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Jan 2021 · 225
*
OC Jan 2021
*
My closet is agape
And on my bed
All wrapped in nylone
My old self, neatly folded
Like some forgotten prom attire

My hands unzip the bag
And clime out of
My naphthaline nest
Unfolding legs with careful thought
Brushing off the hollowed torso
Gently stroking the creases of my face

I unravel, and climb into myself
And after all those years
A perfect fit
My skin is barely streatched
My breath, just a bit heavy
My eyes, just a bit clouded
My voice, still mute

Hello old man
You aged as well
I wished we've never met
Apr 2020 · 240
New Routine
OC Apr 2020
Keep sanity close during this

when the path from the bed to the couch
took the shape of shuffling feet
like trodden animal trail through the grass
from the lair, to the waterhole, and back

when the hand reaching towards the fridge
knows the full weight of the door
better than the arms of nurses know
the weight of the newly born

when the pots, and table, and sink
fill up, and empty out, and fill up
just as waves and tides follow
the periodic pulling of the moon

when day and night, and night and day
and night and night and day too
and not today, and is tonight and
not

and you
the backbone of existence
a hidden picture on display
you are,
there
when all the dishes stack to dry
and the refrigerator sighs
and the couch cool down
and the bed is full
and the hug is warm
and sanity
kept close
was not meant to be a love poem. but yeah...
Jan 2020 · 214
Cold cuts
OC Jan 2020
You told me then
that in your dream
my belly was a dark cave
made of niches and crevices
with walls overcrowded with
cages of bent wires
and inside those, cold and still
the corpses of dead roosters

We sit at the same table
but not together
sharing a meal as though
it was bequeathed by a dead relative
present from the corner of the eye
uttering short words
that circle us like vultures
playing chess
not willing to spare the pieces

I stuff my plate with hunger
chew on my resent
swallow down the truth
and have the leftover silence for dessert
all go down the hatch
melding into me
fermenting, swelling
making my stomach bloat
and my insides turmoil
and my guts rumble
and from my pitch black abyss rises
a foreboding omen
a wake up call
Some points lost in translation:

The word for 'rooster' can also mean 'man' in original language
The word for 'sharing' can be interpreted as 'splitting'
The word for 'chess pieces' also means 'dishes'
'my guts rumble' is a translation of 'my stomach makes chicken sounds' in the original language
Nov 2019 · 572
Lyrical Physics #20: Limits
OC Nov 2019
What’s small, is small
what’s big, is big
and all that’s in-between
is also, either small, or big
never both

But isn’t it strange?
for a louse that strolls our head
the scalp kisses the horizon
whilst for us, each brow is arched
and the earth we travel, is flat
but not for Atlas, which from above
see’s that it is curved, while his shoulders
carry the infinite plane that is, ironically
a celestial sphere
which pushes this conundrum
all the way up to god
and possibly beyond

And all things are small
and all things are big
always both thing
never in-between

Thus, we should strive to remember
when the world is heavy on our shoulders
how small, it really is
and how the universe is hidden
in the tiniest of details

And then there’s us, amidst
duality of no, and every, thing
a cusp
of zero, and infinity
20th installment in this series of poems inspired by physics. This is also the last poem in this series, as 20 is the goal I set to myself when starting this project. I am pleased to say that I indeed manged to bind all of those as a small book (containing both the english, and my native tongue versions of these poems) which I intend to give as a present to my scientific mentor.
This has been a long journey, and quite a project to accomplish since it was mainly done on my spare time. I hope that you, the readers, got to share some of my enthusiasm for the field of physics - and that it sparked the curiosity for at least some of you.

Thoughts and comments are as always welcome
OC Nov 2019
I
am the sum of my parts
and my parts
some add to myself
others remove
some too narrow to contain
others as broad as daylight
common
or rare
salient
or silent
my ups, my downs
all lines that coalesce
to form my image

You
are the sum of your parts
but those are, after all
the same parts
different only in
frequency and amplitude
details, and elements of character
that infinitely accumulate

Same lines
and still
you are more fine
19th installment in this series of poems inspired by physics. Absolutely love this one actually. The Fourier transform is a very general, very powerful mathematical tool in physics.
For further reading see: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fourier_transform
And a beautiful video by 3blue1brown: www.youtube.com/watch?v=spUNpyF58BY

Thoughts and comments are welcome
OC Nov 2019
The world is speckled
pairs and pairs of soulmates
those torn from one another
even before they first encountered

Some are separated by a single step
others share daylight
only when the sun rise or set
yet each one calls the other
and their lament is carried on
a somber song
thickening the air
rising, falling, interfering
diluted and again reformed
into a cacophony of desperation
like Cicadas bustling at dusk
like flocks of birds that greet the dawn

Poor them
wondering to and fro
in this pining thicket
searching for a common song
blinded by longing
lying awake at night
aching the insulating gap
encompassed by the constant murmur
singing
singing
18th installment in this series of poems inspired by physics. Not particularly pleased with this one, but whatever.
For further reading on the physics:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Debye–Hückel_theory

Thoughts and comments are welcome
OC Oct 2019
I sometimes ponder
of a phone call that will never be
of silence stretching between two receivers
of a heavy sigh that exhales
years’ worth of air caged in the lungs

Yes, I’m still here
How have you been?
How is life?
How many laugh-lines did the corner of your eye accumulated?
How many past mistakes still drag around your tongue?
How many days since than have drained onto your windowsill?
How many nights were spent sleeping at the foot open front-gates?

Am I as you remember?
Are we where you imagined us to be
back then, some years ago
when both our paths diverged
when all we left behind
was dust and a sense of waste,
and a pair of phantom us, gazing onward
that shared the same time and space

Yes, I am here, but different
which may describe you too
no wonder, since passing time
kept kneading us like clay
and all our efforts to keep straight
were all for naught, we are astray

But
sometimes I still ponder
if thing did not transpire
if times unraveled could be wound up
and knotted, at that single point
then moving forward, just maybe
both of us were different now
but different altogether
For analogous "classical" results see: 17th Installment in this series of poems inspired by physics. This one is a bit different, as it is not inspired by a "classic" result in physics, but by my own research.
For analogous "classical" results see:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Persistence_length

Thoughts and comments are always welcome
OC Sep 2019
Know from where you came
and to where you are going
and count each step along the way
but keep in mind, that steps
are not exclusive for the trail
and that your feet
crave the lush greenery of meadows
long for the caressing touch of seas
yearn for the embrace of freshly plowed soil

Do not be shy, indulge them
break often from the path
survey the land instead
bruise your toes on stubborn thistle
go back, and then continue forward
get lost, and lost again
with zeal reserved for pilgrims

And finally,
as you fall weary to your bed
the ache, and speckles of your blood
adorn your makeshift cot
sum up, all of your steps
and you might find
they total at the square length of your way
smile
your journey was ideal
16th installment in the series of poems inspired by physics. One close to my heart, as it is relates to elegant and fascinating topic of polymer physics. For further reading: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ideal_chain

Thoughts and comments are welcome
OC Sep 2019
We the people
are a Sisyphean collective
our punishment: progressing humanity

With fiery eyes  and frothing mouth
we charge towards  its surfaces
bashing those with scrawny shoulders
ricochet like sparks from flint
watch as we fall back
how it moves a fraction of a hair length
knowing that
if all our efforts were combined
surely, humanity would’ve accelerated

But we the people
are a democratic anarchy
each one to their own

Each thrusts towards their own direction
each blow is counterbalanced by another
as we foam like sea surf on a shoal
crushing from all sides
and our humanity
crawls in place amongst us

For we, the people
are a paradox of will
the driving, and the stalling force

Insignificantly small, with significant resistance
the viscous drag that ebbs and flows
a choreography of chaos and confusion
we are so many
so many more

And humanity is singular
a monument to our failures
its minuscule fluctuations
a testament of battles fought
but from a far, and from way forward
it is but a speck of dust
which, ever silent, floats
throughout the cosmos
15th installment in the series of poems inspired by physics. Like many of the poems in this series, this one also reflects on the richness of the phenomenon called "diffusion" or "brownian motion". For more reading: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Einstein_relation_(kinetic_theory)

Thoughts and comments are welcome
OC Sep 2019
Not the stillness
but the never-ending motion
not on the head of a pin
but in base of the broad basin
not a perfect evenness
but the wealth of variance

Not two opposing pebbles
laid on a lever atop a pivot
not a balance
more
like a train car
arriving at the station
where people board and disembark
while their total never changes

Similarly
not good opposing evil
not black and white
or self against the other
more
the summation of the ins and outs
of all that simultaneously occur
when nothing ever happens
14th installment in this series of poems inspired by physics. For further reading: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thermodynamic_equilibrium

Thoughts and comments are welcome
OC Sep 2019
The truth is
There’s always dishes to do
a floor to mop up
a phone call to make
food to cook
fences to paint
people to see
about a dog, about a cat

About a life
you never own up to
because of all the little hurdles
all the small achievements
you rake in your confined Zen garden
neatly piling skipping stones
as if boulders don’t exist outside
as if there’s no mountains that require scaling
as if the big issues
Who you are? Why you are? When will you be?
are not looming over in the distance
casting shadow in the twilight of your days

The truth is
all these notches on your belt
are the sum effort of your laying lows
the trophies for your standing stills
the “what if”s you stifle into the pillow
because you know the odds
never scale with the effort

Truth is
minimal struggle dictates the average
but you decide on the endeavor
blessed are the meek
for they shall inherit the barrens
13th installment in this series of poems inspired by physics (for details, read the first one in the series here: https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3122578). Shared this with a struggling friend recently, let him know we all struggle.

For more information: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boltzmann_distribution

Thoughts and comments are always welcome
OC Sep 2019
We are
superficial beings
densely packed on the fringe
of histories in contact.

We’re torn apart
by discord from within
and rush together
when pressure rises from outside,

The balance of the two
along with our emphatic bonds
encapsulates our collective ego
defines how full we are
of ourselves.
12th installment in the series of poems inspired by physics (see 1st installment for details). Further information: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Young%E2%80%93Laplace_equation

Thoughts and comments are welcome
OC Aug 2019
As summer unfolds
the scent of dusty roads
urges us to roam
the succulent fig
the crimson mulberry
overcome the mother’s call
to scurry back for dinner

Instead, we scatter
like sheaf thrown to the wind
and there is nobody but us
in this unraveling earth
for we are
ones of a kind

When winter comes
frost kisses with its lips
the sills of our windows
its curling fingers
grips the air without a touch

Then, we slouch back
and huddle like a flock
of penguins in the Antarctic
seeping heat one onto another
waddling in circles
flowing as a whole
a collective race

From without inwards
from within back out
we are
together, and apart
11th installment in the series of poems inspired by physics (see first installment for background). For more information: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spinodal_decomposition (the introduction enough).

Thoughts and comments are always appreciated
OC Aug 2019
You start small
We all do
Frantically flailing about
Trying to catch ideas
Buzzing like flies ‘round your head

You ****** them from the air
And press them onto paper
But the sneaky devils, they play dead
As long as you keep an eye on ‘em
And as soon as you turn to grab another
They mockingly take off of the page

A futile dance
Of reach, snap, splat and lose
The buzzing never dies
The sweat never dries out
The page soiled by the blood and guts
Of undead thoughts that never stay
But somehow always haunt

But, once in every while
You gather just enough
And they start to coalesce
Suddenly, the struggle is reversed
The clump just grows
Despite of all objections
And crystallizes
Into a structure and a form
It’s out of your control
And all is ****** inside
This whirlpool of occurrence
That boils the atmosphere
With each link being added
Until the world, and you
Both remain depleted

You crawl away
Bruised and fatigued
From the monstrosity created
To find a hiding spot
Where the noise will mask your presence
You wish to sleep, to heal
But ****
this wretched buzzing
Tenth installment of the series of poems inspired by physics (for details see the first poem in the series). To be honest, I don't like this one. I never had the taste for ars poetica, and it always feels presumptuous to me. However, it seems fitting to publish this one now as a halfway milestone (I want a total of 20 poems in this series).

For further reading:https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nucleation

As always, thoughts and comments are welcome.
OC Jul 2019
It is a common observation
That things are either bound or free
And this gives birth to misconceptions
On nature’s own duality

Just like a boulder in seclusion
An object tied is never loose
It has potential in profusion
Yet nothing stored is ever used

In contrast, like a cuckoo bird
An object loose is free to roam
With nothing owned, and all things shared
Yet nowhere to be called a home

But how the stable knows of freedom?
And of the joys of taking flight?
For in the well, where he is hidden
The skies seem dark in broad daylight

And how the liberated figures
To perch and quench on rushing spume?
Since from the heavens, even rivers
Are thinner than a feather’s plume

The trick is repetition thousands
And millions, and some billions more
Each item through the options browse and
Decides to settle, or to soar

Then from this binary decision
The choice is neither ridge nor flock
And one can say, with some conviction
All compromise the bird and rock

Take heart, and listen to this lesson
In life you often have to choose
‘tween earthly form and spirit essence
You gain, but on the same time lose

A man is bound by his possessions
A man with none, will starve for sure
To thrive, one must apply discretion
And choose which path to him allures

Lo, such is life, optimization
Of energy and entropy
You minimize their combination
In hope that this will set you free
The ninth installment in this series of poems inspired by physics (for details, look in the first installment of the series). This one is by far the most "physics-y" poem, dealing directly in the idea of free-energy and how it applies to many physical systems. For further reading: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thermodynamic_free_energy

The notion, or extension of, of free energy exists in many other fields of science from organic chemistry, to nureo-biology and  information theory.  All address some kind of balance between having many options to choose from, or benefiting from holding onto a single choice.

As always, thoughts and comments are welcome.
OC Jul 2019
A life away
You intertwined our fingers
And whisper, this is fate
It cannot be by chance.

But little do you know,
There is no guiding hand
We are a combination
Of one path that we took
And the rest that were not taken
And in this very moment
I read a book in a café
I watch a movie from my bed
I ski across the Alps
I breathe your scent
Mingled with the aromas
Of coffee, sleep and freshly packed snow
And of many, many more
And yet
The braid made by our fingers
Is duplicated countless times
Through all these permutations

You see
The odds were therefore in our favor
Alas, no mysticism here
What you call fate, is chance
The guiding hand of nature.
The 8th installment in this series of poems inspired by physics (for background, see the first in the series).

Fun fact: In my native tongue, "fate" and "chance" are expressed by the same word (an auto-antonym).

For further reading: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fokker%E2%80%93Planck_equation
(this is an awfully technical description to my taste, that misses the essence and philosophy of the theory - I may rewrite it on wikipedia somday)

Thoughts and comments are always welcome
OC Jul 2019
Slow. slower
so infinitely sluggish
so much the earthly turn
would seem to simply vanish
'till bluebirds freeze mid-flight
like crystallizing salt
'till streams will cease their aqueous murmur
their rapids,  gleaming glass
'till a heartbeat will forget
that it was once a rhythm

Still
in this absence of the motion
the tingle of the scruff just hints
the constant frolic of the air
as wings slide towards it, oh so slowly
the turmoil of the water rushing nowhere
to break on shores as far as ever
the boiling of the blood in veins
as bustling as busy city streets
this ruckus
held in the gap between two moments

Now fast. faster
more swift than any measure
until a single blink
will span entire seasons
'till mountains rise and fall
like tides during a storm
'till the moon is but a brushstroke
across the night sky whole
'till all of history is shrunk
to but a single point

Yet
in all of this commotion
no thing can separate from other
how height of peak and depth of valley
merge to the same plateau
how night and day together blend
into an everlasting twilight
how all that we were and will be
condenses, like it never was
in this silence
where time is crammed and threats to rapture

Isn’t it wonderful?
all things stand and move, still and in motion
and in the gap that separate the times
we are, like senior toddlers
just opening our eyes
Seventh installment of the series of poems inspired by physics (see first poem in the series for explanation).
For further reading: http://www.bio-physics.at/wiki/index.php?title=Separation_of_Timescales
(A very crude explanation of a much broader philosophy, but with a classic example)

Thoughts and comments are wielcom
Jun 2019 · 1.1k
Lyrical Physics #6: Kramers
OC Jun 2019
The first step is the hardest
the second, harder still
    a steeper step, I follow through
    my world, it seems, is built askew
     my goal, to clime that hill

     Yet not all treads are equal
        some forward
    some reverse
    a trail is nowhere to be found
  its easier to turn around
the valley ground, a curse

But patience is a virtue
  persistence is a key
   surmounting mountains is a must
   when voices urge within each gust
   escape, and you go free

     Those winds, they carry forward
         and inching steps amass
      a lifetime spent inside a ditch
            and suddenly the trough is breached
                     I reach the top at last

                     But legs, they know just walking
                     not how to stand and cheer
                    inertia pull, and I comply
                    across, and to the other side
                 it’s all downhill from here
Sixth installment of the series of poems inspired by physics (see first poem in the series for explanation).
For further reading: http://physics.gu.se/~frtbm/joomla/media/mydocs/LennartSjogren/kap8.pdf (Section 8.2, you can get the feel without delving into the math)

Thoughts and comments are welcome
OC Jun 2019
You are
What you are

Even while carried
To the left, or to the right
Up and down
Even if pivoted
Through each and every angle
Even when you were
And when you will
Forever still

Except

When you reflect
Through right to left
In your perception of the self
You are

Mistaken

So why rely on chiral lie
Deny your mirror form
And celebrate you
That is true
Through other eyes

You are reborn
Fifth installment of the series of poems inspired by physics (see first poem in the series for explanation).
For further reading: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Symmetry_(physics)

Thoughts and comments are welcome
May 2019 · 1.3k
Lyrical Physics #4: Carnot
OC May 2019
Tangent, like so
Back side, torso
Two systems touching
Move ever so slow
Breathe in the body heat
Top off both of the lungs
Feel those expand the diaphragm
Stretching body to its limit
Then halt
Then hold
Let the ribcage further swell
To the point of nearly bursting
First stroke
Feel cold air tingling the nose
Make contact
Release the diaphragm
Slowly, almost without motion
Pour heat outside into the chill
Until the airways close down shut
Press on, then press some more
And take your breath away
Second stroke
The cycle starting over
Rhythmic, measured, patient
With maximal efficiency
Each night,
You prove through me the limit
of possibility
Another installment in the series of poems inspired by physics (see first of the series for more details). Thoughts and comments are appreciated.
For further reading: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carnot_heat_engine
OC May 2019
There’s irony
In our struggle to resolve
In our vain attempt to state
That if we decompose the world
And isolate
The properties of every element
We can construct it bottoms-up
In all its former glory

Yet nature still resists
For it is not made of the details
But of all that manifest between
It is not balanced on a needle
But emerges from the pattern sewn
From the answer, not to “Why?”
But to “Why not?”

If we just distance the objective
From the subject, that is subjective by default,
And take a glance from far enough
The universe unfolds
A whole
Much larger than its parts

The same way motion
Is not defined for isolated sole
Same as color
Is never measured by a single pulse
The same way poetry
Does not exist within a single word
Creation
Is not the grains, but the coast whole
That lets us know just where
The sea begins
Third installment in the series of poems inspired by physics (see first poem in the series for explanation).
For further reading: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coarse-grained_modeling

Thoughts and comments are always welcome
OC May 2019
Life, just like before,
Collide with us non-stop
Pushing from and pulling back to
Our mutual starting point
And each time
We come in through the door
A little more fatigued
A little bit more bruised
A little less familiar
We sit at the same table
Drink from the same cup
And watch
From our never-changing spot
How the distance between us
Grows larger
Still
Second installment of the series of poems inspired by physics (see first poem in the series for explanation).
For further reading: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Langevin_equation

Thoughts and comments are welcome
Apr 2019 · 307
Lyrical Physics #1: Scaling
OC Apr 2019
Choose two mountains
And split one to a pair of hills
A hill divides in two to mounds
One mound is halved to coupled knolls
One knoll, it is but boulders two
a boulder breaks to stone, and stone
a stone comprise two pebbles
and a pebble is two shards
one shard you snap in two whole grains
and now
pick up the grain
and face it, eye to eye
and the shard that wasn’t halved
place a fist length
to the back, and to the right
and the pebble just a foot away behind
and all the rest, this way aligned
to the right, and to the back
in ever widening gaps
up to the mountain that was left
way in the distance, scraping skies
look
a grain, a shard, a pebble
a stone, a rock, a knoll
a mound, a hill, a mountain
are all the same
all woven in repeated pattern
defined out of themselves
therefore, all mountains
depending on perspective
are just grains

Now
Take your aspirations
This is a new series I'm trying to write. It will comprise poems that were inspired by physical phenomena or philosophies that I encountered throughout my years studying. The goal is to reach ~ 20 of those and bind them in a booklet (along with their translation in my native tongue). Currently seems impossible, but each pebble at a time...

Thoughts and comments are appreciated
OC Dec 2018
And in the eighth day, god has glanced
upon his fair creation.
He blessed the common of good sense
and reached imagination.

BY ME!, he said to Gabriel,
I think I've done it pretty well,
by inventing logic first
and afterwards the universe.
Well even though it's been quite tough
our world is... reasonable enough.

Now, I am worried since right there
is a little point that's out of order.
It is that little point of view.
It gave us trouble, quite a few.
Please, Gabriel, do fix the matter
and make our world work better.

God head assistant cried "Disgrace!"
"You little point! Get back in place!"
But when he got up near,
he found out something... weird...
From that point, when he looked at it
god seemed to him... a wrong a bit...

Two angels all equipped and set
were sent to straight things up.
"Are you not back in line yet?!"
"You make our boss seem all upset."
"Beware, or we shall call a cop!"

Yet...
When the angels closer drew
each held a different point of view
then roared a great loud argument
upon what point god really meant!

Oh dear, what shall we do with you?
Such little, stubborn, point of view.
A right solution was not found,
they had to let it stay around.
No one knows what for.
But since that day, we all can say
Life's all,
except a bore...
A little gem by my old man that I've learned to recite by heart. Was written in English originally, unlike other pieces I had to translate.
Dec 2018 · 3.0k
Mother
OC Dec 2018
A picture of your mother
dull colors of a bygone era
a polaroid born faded
a memory bestowed upon you by another
a hearsay tale long lost in time
more far than you can count on fingers
she smiles
a smile reserved for the unburdened
you wonder when this woman is
she looks happy

A finger painting of your mother
all colors watered down
a reminder that you must
prioritize
some things carry more meaning
other need meaning poured onto them
cupped like water in both hands
presented to a lip-cracked child
some water saturate the soul
while keeping others thirsty
some colors are skin deep

Your mother, wrapped in blankets
in an almost vacant bed
her paint, dry and life-bleached
you sit with her
through all these final hours
watching as the outer coating
peels off and settles to the floor
solemnly, you sweep the flakes
an acolyte on hallow ground
choosing the most beautiful
pasting to a piece of paper
crafting the image of a woman
that once could have been
your mom
Was hesitant to upload this for a while now, as it feels a bit to personal. Written for a friend.
Dec 2018 · 666
Marriage
OC Dec 2018
We toil
And slave
And sweat
On  mundane tasks of day-to-day
In a trodden path
We pace in circles
Through a routine
Thicker than molasses

Our arm extended to both sides
And fingers spread as fans
We make the struggle even worse
In an effort to ensnare
Not matter,
But what matters
The idle chats when days draw to a close
A gentle, loving stroke
A smile, a laugh
A joyful tear
A warm embrace before the dawn
And sometimes
(if we're lucky)
Even a plump adventure

All of which we catch
In the sieves that are our palms
Bringing them
Closer to our core
Kneading
Forming
Sculpting
Into prisms of pure light
Shining like the sunrise
Placing those
One on top the other
While keeping on the go
Brick by brick
We build ourselves
A home
I love life with you, for all its comprising parts
life
and with you
Dec 2018 · 634
Senryū: Calligraphy
OC Dec 2018
drawing a line is
often less effective than
alluding to it
Nov 2018 · 518
My father can juggle words
OC Nov 2018
My father can juggle words
as though they were multicolored *****
His hands move, confident and strong
drawing rhythm and structure
from thin air
launching upwards word after word

And those chase one another
in colorful and complex patterns
like dancing hummingbirds
one's beak kisses tail of the other
a necklace made of rhymes
that twirl and loop around and on
composing lines that draw
a verse, a verse, a pause

the wonder that unfolds
in front of my bewildered face
as syllables, vowels and consonants
conjure magic
from null - into existence
creating paintings with no cloth
a symphony sans instruments

and I fill my own lungs with laughter
and joyfully applaud
my eyes are spangled by the stars
that without knowing or trying
day after day
he plucks down from the sky
for me
Comments:

"a necklace made of rhymes" - in the original language, that is a play on words. Rhymes can be translated as "beads" and necklace as "a stream of".

"composing lines that draw  a verse, a verse, a pause" - only similar in spirit to the original. Verse can also mean "home", the equivalent of pause can mean "space".

Written for my father's 60'th birthday. Don't tell him yet, you'll spoil the surprise...
OC Nov 2018
Today
I savored my own killing

I could've done so
at the twilight of my days
while I dose off
on a creaking rocking chair
my old lean limbs entangling down
my crooked joints melded to the arm rests
my heavy head resting on my collarbone
oblivious as I
mercifully approach from the back
gently stepping on the tube
leading oxygen to my dying body
watching as my breath become heavy
as my blocked throat wheeze in exhaustion
as my stressed lungs finally collapse
as I quietly yield to sleep.

I  could've done so
sometime tomorrow or yesterday
As I lay asleep on my back
snoring as usual
in an instant I'll roll over
and be on top of myself
clasping at my mouth and nose
pressing my full body weight
as I jolt awake, panicked and confused
my arm randomly flailing around
torn prayer flags swooped by a hurricane
my fingers digging into the flesh of my arms
attempting to pull me apart
until finally
my stubborn grip overcomes
and defeated I dim onto stillness
save for a twitch here or there.

I chose to do so
in my youth
as the texture of a heavy rope
grazes and bruises the skin on my neck
while I send a chilling smile at myself
from across the room
pulling a handle
that drops the floor beneath my feet
accelerating for the first time
relishing the hissing air
the absence of gravity
catching with my eyes my penetrating gaze
older than I am
full of grief, fatigue, and divination
cut by the cracking rope
torn like my snapped neck
with a hallow sound
much less revolting than I thought
watch me dangling like
a ragged pendulum
a grotesque puppet
an unripe miscarriage
feeling but a slight pinch of regret
for never knowing
this moment
Nov 2018 · 911
Storm
OC Nov 2018
Nights like this
make me want to drown in you
to feel your surging body
flooding over me as the tides
rising and crushing down
to **** in your salt
and scorch my lungs
hot and wet
raging and rocking me about
I plunge into your ocean
lost, blind and blurred
sinking like a stone
floating like a feather
gently rocking in your darkest depth
on muffled, distant thunders
conceding
to the frailness of oblivion
wrecked
from the  calm of this abyss I am
sung
like foam onto your shores
Had our first storm of the season the night before
Nov 2018 · 1.5k
HappySad
OC Nov 2018
Pour all into bowl
then separate and cull
joy from sorrow
reality from fiction
peas from carrots
outline a writhing boarder
and then declare
These are here,
and those are there!
no more enclaves
assimilation
or gaps of no-man's land
from now on
clean cut
aesthetic
well defined
a beacon of chiseled hope
for the sick, the weary
the poor
so they may flock into your chapel
amass, wet eyed, to learn
the essence of humanity
never again to be confused
never to succumb to madness
never to grow old
Oct 2018 · 726
Offence
OC Oct 2018
Woman
You are under
my skin
between the cracks
that even the world
cannot squeeze through
And your words
are venom
their weight, like the world
too heavy to bear
Still they ricochet
from within my walls
tearing through me like lightning
ice cold, and red hot
piercing,  yet dull
empty, and full to the brim
with truth woven out of
loose threads
and patched with
false assumptions
on the things that I am
even though I am not
and the things that I hope
to become
A translation, almost a decade old. Comments are always welcome.
Oct 2018 · 628
Fragments #4
OC Oct 2018
It is as if you
hang on a key-chain
deep inside my pocket
I carry you for years
not having the slightest of clues
how you actually look like
Last fragment for now. I need to go back to committed writing.
Oct 2018 · 292
Dream
OC Oct 2018
-
I am a tourist
in a crowd of pilgrims
picking up pebbles and broken glass
from the winding trodden road.
Fallacy and emptiness
are heavy in my pockets
hinting that i face
the center of gravity,
a prolonged paralysis,
and that the bounties of the journey
are beyond the reach
of those who climb.
Perhaps,
I just lay down for a moment
spread my hands across the ground,
and latch onto the shadows of the passersby.
I wonder
if I hold on strong enough
I just might
fall into the sky
-
Oct 2018 · 583
Strings
OC Oct 2018
Deus ex strepitus
deflecting with its finger
deviations that transform
whole lives
from mundane into tragic
no wonder that
some thing are just not right
poverty
a three legged dog
a drifter under a bridge
you and I

---

I often mistook
the gap between
the light beams of my car
and the shadows splashed
onto a bus stop
for a man who wasn't there.
Where is he now?
At a wedding,
walking the dog,
in front of the T.V.,
sitting there
feeling just like me
removed

---

in another place
at another time
I wrap
my index and my thumb
around your wrist
pondering
what would have happened
if we met by chance
Another old translation. Three short ones that share a common subject. Better in the original language. Apologies.
Oct 2018 · 556
Fragments #3
OC Oct 2018
On my way to work
I suddenly fell in love
but I did not know
with whom, or why
And I must admit
it is much less stressful
to fall in love with
a non existing void
After all, for once
I know for certain
that they can never
love me back
Oct 2018 · 485
Fragments #2
OC Oct 2018
I once made a hobby of
softly blowing your tears down the pillow
towards the edge that rests upon the mattress,
where my finger would wait
to collect each and every drop.
That way, I believed
your dreams will never get soaked
and you will not be so sad
anymore.
Oct 2018 · 671
Fragments #1
OC Oct 2018
Putting out fires
is an impossible task
when all you can find
are poems of paper
wooden hopes
and faith wrapped with
a decomposing cloth
rather
it is better to just
cast those into the pyre
perhaps as fuel these will
suspend
the creeping night
for just a moment further
This will be a series of parts of incomplete poems that either don't hold up as a whole, are half baked, or are too lost in translation. Comments will be appreciated
Sep 2018 · 412
Ventriloquist
OC Sep 2018
I have spoken the words of others
for far too long
or maybe,
others talked through me
borrowing my voice
dismantling my speech as it is uttered
the shattered puzzle of my thoughts
is reconstructed as seen fit
to benefit the battle fought
by strumming on my chest
and plucking on my vocal cords
and patting on my crest as if to say
Behold!
Your mangled call has brought
the sunrise once again.
You are entitled to its glow.

how dare I stop
when dawn is on the line?
might as well hum the notes
the fiddler plays
as I march forth to oblivion
obedient, and mute.
Sep 2018 · 3.5k
Morning rituals
OC Sep 2018
This morning
Was a metaphor to my current way of life
For the first time in years
I woke up early enough to watch the sunrise
And I almost missed it
Because I had to take a ****
Sep 2018 · 366
Dialogue
OC Sep 2018
No matter how I try, it’s tough
To give up on the notion
That I am at the hub, and things
Revolve me in predicted motion
Since evidence suggest that you
Are funneled through, per se,
My heliocentric point of view
To form the milky way

---

Time after time, it all comes down
To my unshaken, firm refusal
To dig the dust of my own past
And face my own accusal
My fetal limbs still probe and poke
The sheathing warm placenta
As if to perforate some stars
In skies of deep magenta
I’ve never felt so hugely-small
So focused and off-centered

---

I pleaded once, I begged you twice
A third time I implore
To stow your truth away from mine
If possible, in different drawers
Since neither of us knows the dose
That let us sleep at night

---

You
Simply do not
Understand
Just how much
I am
Right


---

I swear, I’m just a laborer
When all is said and done
Who drones on towers that adorn
The banks of Babylon
My breath is getting shallower
With each brick laid in place
My words like sweat evaporate
As I inch out to space
Without this nuisance of a tongue
This need to comprehend
I might have been a god like you
And we could make amends

---

When used alone, the reason fail
In quelling arguments
Like throwing stones into the sea
To form a continent
As reason is perspective prone
And tethered to a soul like strings
To bridge the gap, souls must align
To form the sturdy anchoring


---

Even if
Glued back to back
We both refrain from blinking
And even if
The world will turn
And we just let all sink in
And even if
A compass draws
Trajectories into conclusion
This revolution
Will sum up
to yield the same degree

Three hundred
Sixty
And a bit

Is all that we can see

---
Sep 2018 · 480
Lucky
OC Sep 2018
You say

“How lucky are we to be in love”

And I say

In toil, and sweat, and dedication
In devotion, humility and sacrifice
In the will to grow and change together

There is no luck

To call it luck is to believe in
An unseen guiding hand
Sketching fates out of a whim

To call it luck is to say
That the universe funneled us together
Carried like leaves on its
Roaring cascading surge

It is like shuffling all cards
Back to suites laid in ascending order
And drawing from the top the queen of hearts

And how can that be as magical

As wonderful

As two people, that choose to
Unravel their old selves
Then embrace, and meld together

To fashion a new whole
Aug 2018 · 3.6k
Post-Capitalism
OC Aug 2018
Our wonderful ad
features full frontal nudes
of chin chiseled, eye pleasing,
ab sculptured dudes.
Our ad shows designs,
simply put: haute couture
You can find all that’s fine intertwined in brochures
that assure,
our ad is a true work of art!
Epic music composed to impose on the heart.
Cheeky infants that dance
in suggestive red glow.
Gargantuan ****
filmed up close and
S -- L -- O -- W -- M -- O
...
Our ad?
Well, by god! It’s a wonderful show!
Cinematic façade that will strike all with awe!
With a well-crafted subtext encoded within
“ALL HAIL PROSTITUTION!”
“ABORTION IS SIN!”
Action!
Gunfire!
Blood!
Severed limbs all around!
Shattered windows!
Kung-fu that exceeds speeds of sound!
Monumental achievement!
Our ad will start soon!
But before, just a word from our sponsor

Stay tuned…
Had so much fun with this one
Aug 2018 · 1.8k
Penguin
OC Aug 2018
Back and forth, a charming wobble
On a rugged rag she hops
Chasing traces of burst bubbles
Left by little soapy drops

Lightly pruned palms gently pressed
Hid behind a fresh new towel
In a formal evening dress
Like a royal clumsy fowl

A relentless Déjà vu
Is refusing to clear up
Like a lipstick smudge that drew
On the lip of a tea cup

Nearly done, a dreamy gaze
Smiling as she turns about
For her beauty I do praise
We chose to stay and not dine out
An old favorite.
Aug 2018 · 868
Salt
OC Aug 2018
If I could
I would have chosen as a pet
the delicate creases
left by your feet
in the wet sand
I would have fenced them
in a comforting womb
made of splendid castles
of sea and sand and shoal
waiting for them to deepen
into fine groves where I can seed
the scent of brine
the salt of your taste
the gleam of your eyes
cultivating all
so they can grow and feed
my awe stricken soul
OC Aug 2018
At preschool last morning, when first class began
Our teacher Miss Fortune, has entered the den
And promptly asked us, the pure younglings
To write on the devil that make us do things

So teacher sat down, and we tykes got engaged
And committedly filled page after page
As we took up an oath, us the urchin, the youth
To speak the whole truth, and nothing but truth

So first rose the young boy Timothy Veet
And confessed all the text that he etched on the sheet
How last week he attended the birthday of Sheila
And got high on some hemp, and two shots of tequila

As he sat, quickly stood his companion wee Tom
And he told how he broke to the principal’s home
Where he gingerly snatched, like a cat burglar
A computer, some cash, and antique silverware

But who took the whole cake, was shy Rosaline
As she stood up and gestured to Billy, her kin
And with timid resolve, and an ear-to-ear grin
Said: “He is the devil that makes me do things…”

Miss Fortune, chalk white, and clearly distressed
Was rushed on a gurney, to the ER no less
Our innocence wither, like a flower well hidden
So why keep insisting on calling us children
An old piece by my old man. Thought to lighten the mood a bit by translating this one. Hope you enjoy.
Aug 2018 · 433
Conditioning
OC Aug 2018
I stitched
hands trembling
patch to patch
concealing your perfection
your fabric pricked
with each new stitch
an inverse of C-section

Each ***** at you
a stab at me
and trickles of red blood
adorned
visage of clotted dreams
the color of dried mud

Patch after patch
meticulously
fragmentally I forgot
aware that there’s no other way
full of dismay
full of regret

A grim artwork
you stood and smirked
your scarred and awful smile
a bride of snide
spread far and wide
a dusty, mangled guise of guile

I covered
this textile Frankenstein
this fractured made a whole
covered myself with you
and mumbled
a prayer to rest
my tattered soul
A prime example of 'lost in translation'. This piece went to a completely different direction, and is now, technically, a new poem.
Aug 2018 · 1.0k
Resolution
OC Aug 2018
A curse upon you
for casting me the role of
a blind tracker
who's anxious with each step
lest his fumbling fingers
his stumbling stroll
will wipe clean the footprints
you left in the sand

----

A pox on your head
for sentencing me to
hang
from the smoldering debris
of my crumbling hopes
by a noose tied and fixed
to the moment
your turned back has
crossed through the door

----

Be ******
all that is you
a decaying piece of cloth
wrapped around dried up bones
produced from the depth of the past
rattled and hastily poured
pretending to feign me a future
with your crickety crackling song
Aug 2018 · 495
Intangible
OC Aug 2018
Ever present
percolating through the words
squeezing between minutes
wisping back and fro
awe struck and delighted
by our emanating glow
it flows
in friction absent motion
herding to a circle
appraising
assessing
until, curious and slow
it reaches
at times to pluck
and decorate the ear
at times to rake
a handful to the pockets
retreating as we scuttle
to fill the lingering void
gazing at the shrinking puncture
thatching it with open palms
huddling in human warmth
shining
more than ever
The brother of a friend passed yesterday.
Jul 2018 · 4.5k
In a while
OC Jul 2018
Soon I will forget
and soon after
I will forget even remembering
For the world is several
times my size
imprinting its pieces in me
as fading images
The raindrops that pool to a puddle
forget how they once were an ocean
and the tree trunk loses sight of
its humble stem origin
Just like those
I’ll forget in a while
what was once
where I head
who am I
piece by piece
past and future break from the
now
oblivious
knowing nothing but grief
and not knowing
for what
Sorry for the lame translation. Proper English just could not capture what I was aiming for.
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