A poem is what
you use it for, to explore
the unreachable.

Sometimes, before the morrow comes,
I see blackness move on the mountain tops.
I see shadow ropes hanging
On the windows of my house,
And their dark blue lines move slowly,
Like the hands of a clock.
I hear owls singing blues and rock,
Leaves falling on the ground,
And other things I hear in the moonstruck.

Sometimes, before the morrow comes,
My feet, they tempt me out.
My soul begs me to shout,
Howl like a wolf,
Wait for others to howl back,
Howl all together at the same time.
Run, frenetically, till out of breath,
Rest on a tree,
And feel the silence
Breaking into us,
Beating in our veins,
As adrenaline fades away.

Sometimes,
I want to go out
And see for myself
The world beyond my house.

Your death is a terrible thing,
And so are the lines that lie
in the silent corners,
And the shady borders
Of light.
You lived many a life before.
Too many
to be afraid of death.
And you died
Too many deaths before,
To fear the rays of life.


~ RIP Pablo.

Un vide viscéral.
La promesse d’une nuit,
Prendre la forme de l’arbre pour grandir,
Dessiner un cercle sur le bitume,
Se mordre,
Mordre l’autre.
Rendre à l’oiseau sa liberté
Puis la reprendre,
Le regarder dans les yeux
Alors qu’il dit quelque chose.
Souvent,
Je me noie dans mon désordre.
Parfois, je pardonne
À Zoula d’être morte.

Today I flew to 'Menas',
Saw Vultures in the sky,
And wrote a haiku.

Lost in the widening shore,
The words were mere,
But unspoken.
We should've made a vow, my dear,
For now I'm feeling so
Heartbroken.
Hand me one more dream,
Whisper another lie.
You know..
A dream is just
A nicer place to die.