I won't say "I wish you were here."
Because I wish I wasn't.
I won't say "I miss you, my dear."
Because you know that already.
I won't say "I'll wait for when you are near."
Because we both know I can't.

But I will say this:

Though it's cold and dark and wild,
Your words will keep me warm.
And though I'm just a lonely child,
You mean so much more.
As I leave the eye of the storm,
And deadly, raging clouds form,
The memory of the calm before,
Will remind me all of me is yours,
And there is no way I'll let anything you own be lost.
So I'll take care of my yearning heart,
I'll comfort my mind with your words of art,
I'll let my mouth smile and let my lungs sigh,
So that my eyes won't have to cry,
So when I see you again, I can be happy with no cost.

And just one more thing, that you already know,
I love you no matter what, and no matter where I go.

Walking quickly,
Just to catch up with you,
So we can talk for a few more minutes,
So I can see your eyes just one more time,
Before tomorrow.

Walking slowly,
Just to make it last longer,
So I can feel your hand in mine for another eternity,
So I can see you smiling for another second,
Before tomorrow.

Holding you closer,
Just to feel your heart,
So I can hear the sound of every gentle breath,
So you can keep me warm for another moment,
Before tomorrow.

Looking back,
Just to see you step inside,
So I can catch another glimpse of your hair,
So I hear the last thing you say,
Before tomorrow.

Running home,
Just to make the time go faster,
So that the adrenaline can make each minute rush by,
So I don't have to wait quite as long,
Before tomorrow.

A dream,
a daydream within a fever:

I see,
a long road-
beside,
several narrow roads-
seen or unseen
known or unknown

high fever
my body burning
looping within hallucination

your's-
uneven low voice
some broken words
playing jigsaw with me

yet everything your's
me and my fever too

@Musfiq us shaleheen

My father.
Old sailor.
Old farmer.
Old carpenter.
Old interpreter.
Old archive of facts
And history. He knows
Our ancestory by heart down
To the 1600s. Born 1946, 68 years
Old today. Bought me my first pen,
My first book, taught me English
From the age of five. Told me I
Had the gift of language and
Expression. And that I was
A stronger boy than any
Anyone had ever seen
By the time I began  
To learn English.
I owe him credit
For every word
I have written.
Weak now
With age and
Bad lungs, I still
See him as a giant
Handling a chainsaw,
Smelling of forestry and
Gasoline and winter, smiling
At me with eyes deep blue from
Seeing more ocean and sky than I
Ever will know with my own.
His name to me is pappa.
After a few pints of his homemade
Wine, I sometimes let him beat me at Armwrestling. Then we laugh like
Old friends, remembering how
The roles were different back
Then. I am glad I stopped by
For a cuppa on this day. He
Would never ask me to.
Happy Birthday, pappa.

I'd cut a decade from my lifetime
To add a single year
To yours.

She resided in smiles that were her strength
And wore love like protection
She spoke to heartbeats
In the language of dreams
Her eyes reached silences that dealt in prayers
She is whom poets borrow their words from

i'd like to spend a night with you
without armor, covering
without  distance, separating

i'd like to spend a night with you
without obscurity, muting
without silence, encroaching  

i'd like to take down these walls
that cling, like some strange disease
and cause me to bleed

i'd like openness and clarity
to approach me  
to embrace me
and allow me
to be cured
finally

You see people
in great works of literature
comparing love
to fire.

We are the smoke,
that rises above the flame
in a plume that ravages a perfect sky
with clouds of ash,
and the scent of burning.

We disintegrate,
spreading into the atmosphere.
So many particles of us scatter,
that no one knows
where we start and where we begin.
We are one,
and we span across the sky,
so fused in our many parts that
we can never be separate entities again.