I know where I was
somewhere between
precisely where
i did not want to be
to what look liked
a promising path
to where I wanted to
arrive
calculating
my route
I was
distracted
a thought leapt into
being
I should write it down
take the picture
stop and savor this moment
be mindful
of your mindfulness
living in the moment
non judgemental
listening
watching
with intent
means you will not
discriminate
what you keep
from what you lose
that moment
you thought so important
flew off on a cloud
so this sentiment
will have to do
because I haven't a clue
as to what I have let
slip
away

The Lady on the Island

She lived in a big villa with servants, on an island
connected to the mainland by a bridge, she had house arrest
wanted free elections and democracy.
A hero of the west and she got a medal for her tenacity.
The military junta set her free yet kept their power, she accepted
after all, she was a general's daughter.
As a de facto president, she turned out to be a racist, didn't defend
The Rohingya people who their villages burnt to the ground and
had to flee the massacre by the army, she stayed silent and lost
credibility, she was just elite racist didn't want to be a leader of
people who were not of her blood.

She was dancing with the devil
Foxtrotting in those 7-inch heels
Wearing nothing but her tattered guilt
And a crown to which infidels kneel.

While you were sleeping

He was playing god on a wooden table
Addressing his unholy congregation
Picking a necktie to choke his ego
While trying to outsmart an angry nation.

While you were sleeping

They were painting the moon red
For a puppet show that's about to start
All the blood-stained curtains were washed
For the blind audience to play their part.

While you were sleeping

You were walking on empty pavements
Letting all of hell to break loose
You traded reality for fleeting figments
Now you're trapped in dreams you don't get to choose.

For some a heartbreak is worth a fifth of *****.
Others, a pint of ice cream.
For me, it was lots of **** last time.
But, you, you're a different kind of hurt.
The one that keeps you up at night.
The kind of heartbreak you can feel in your lungs.
Each breath becoming increasingly more difficult to take.
You are the kind of heartbreak that you never truly get over.
You are the kind of heartbreak that feels like it can only ever healed with a bullet.

Ah! Life! What can it possibly mean, my friend?
Tell me, before I off to Heaven send.
For wondering, tho' it furrows deep my brow,
At least it is some means of time to spend.

So many questions seem no answers for,
No matter how I pound upon the door,
The doorman may be deaf, or perhaps the lack
Of a secret password missed he must deplore.

An 'Open Sesame' to Aladdin's cave,
Would give me all the answers that I crave,
For answers must be there, this much I know,
Or the fabric of the Universe is betrayed.

So many of us stand in similar plight,
Poets and philosophers day and night,
Waiting with an empty cup in hand,
Pleading - "Fill my cup and give my mind respite."

But knowledge is a trick, it seems to me,
For which 'reduction' is an illusory key,
For if reduced from whole what then is left?
For the whole is where resides the mystery.

I think of Heidegger's 'Being and Time',
A mighty, detailed argument, for mine,
Would discard the answer with the argument,
If it were to be reduced to a single line.

So if we are to know by what Life's meant,
Must journey through its joy and discontent,
For what reduction would do for understanding,
Is reduce the meaning of our Life's content.

That which we've done, our battles won and lost,
When weighed upon Life's ledger as a cost,
What matters then our deeds when all is done,
If into the grave with us our deeds are tossed?

The sort of home you want to be in,
When all you can focus on are the buttons of his suit,
Tightly woven into the fabric, brand new

Is not the same house you were in when he was alive

Its 3 AM staring at the floor, begging for the sleep to take you,
Anywhere
Even nightmares are better than this, nothing.

The solemn stares churn my stomach,
Somersaults with acid, my body lurches
Doubling over in the pain that is grief.

When the eyes in a room all fixate on you,
It's difficult to hide in a box inside your own head,
Because they tear the walls from your fragile shelter,

And their rain is a burning flame,
You are the match that refuses to be put out,
But wants desperately to feel nothing.

The sort of home I want to be in is
Roses, the thorns cut clean from the stem,
Green tea, just the right temperature
And an old console with his favorite game loaded up

But that house is abandoned,
Left like last week's sawdust,
Swept under the rug in a pile of books,
And i am the can of kerosene in the corner of the room,

Waiting to be used in the most vile of ways.

I am an unlit candle in the midst of a hurricane,
The shadow of the night sky blotted out by the moon
I am the fading smile of remorse,
The pang of guilt,
The sorrow of loss

I am the broken inside of you,
The one that eats away at you until the shell is broken apart
And you are all that's left
In the dictionary, i look up sad and expect a picture of me,
Depressed is myself in my room, alone
Suicidal is the knife i once picked up,

Daring to question if my own beating heart was worth the blood

My House is boarded windows and jail cells,
The crawlspace of cobwebs and creaking stairs,
The leaky roof and patchy ceilings

I am all but a finished mess,
And my foundation is cracked and split.

There is always vacancy,
Because who wants to stay in a house like that?

I’d rent out the rooms, but i'm paying for their rent
if they choose to live inside these decrepit walls

I only wish someone would see the shambles
As a start, and not the leftover parts from a failure,

If these 4 walls housed opportunity,
Instead of destruction.

My house, is a home that i long since enjoyed.

Divide the moon into two halves,
You'll find inside a million lamps,
Also cut the heart into two halves,
You'll find inside blood and valves.

Romance is trapped in a Shakespearean novel,
He buried it under the centuries with his shovel,
And the modern fast pace modified the human brain,
It's only a repetitive pattern of falling in vain.

Juliet has a husband, he's older by twenty years,
He's never home, she's always out shopping new fears,
Romeo is jobless, searching ups and downs for a key,
He heard life starts in the aftermath of a dream.

The old witch sitting in front of a glass bowl,
Now broke and retired, all her cookbooks are sold,
And the wolves are out, ruling the woods,
Magic's density in the air, isn't as high as it should.

So plug the stars out, pluck all the electric flowers,
The universe is now running low on power.*

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