And when I molt
you make a headdress of the selves that
have fallen from me with time.
Like you, they are colourful and cautious.

And as you carefully creep skyward,
I throw myself down in the cool grasses
of your lengthening shadow.
I was tired. It made sense to rest.

And so we played with feathers and inches
as children do.
Running in circles and circles until we fell asleep holding hands.

What were we,
but our love?

I am a sunflower.
I turn my yellow
and black face,
bruised, to the sun,
hoping its light will
heal me.
With my eyes closed
I can see my stamen,
veins in my eyelids,
bulbous
where they intersect.
The sun feeds me
and I, grateful,
pour myself into
the air. I am
sweet;
I am a bowl
of candy, I live
on your tongue
and I suffocate under
your eyelids.

So, as you know, I'm the kind of person
who prefers to traverse the worst news first
before dispersing with friendly pleasantries.

But, if I may speak free and honestly
I'm tired carrying around the genes
that subject me to overcome obscene

obstacles from your insecurities
as well as the fears of our ancestors.
I know there are lessons learned in character  

karma before switching out from one car
to another but sweet jesus, sometimes
it's hard to take a break or find space to breathe!

And you wonder sometimes why I cannot
ride over the same roads you built, spilling
oil, drilling mountains, supporting wars and more

systems that are killing the poor and/or
brown men and children. Well then, for my health
and well-being I need to at least find some peace

in the things I can control and support,
things and people that build a rapport with
my mind, heart and soul, so my blood flow don't fly

so high from the things I cannot control
like all the old school phobias and the
nervousness lurking in your minds before I

was even born. There's no scorn from me, but
maybe an occasional forlorn sigh,
only because I love you, and know you're trying.

But please, please... I appreciate that you
want me to succeed, but to be honest
I really, really don't need your help, your genes

are enough of an obstacle course through
hell to get to heaven, because at some
point my being is gonna get sore cause there's

no way in hell you can convince me to
take more or just accept that that's the way
it has been when I can see other paths that

have been, perhaps less traveled, if at all,
leading to happiness and freedom to
be the change you have been seeking from the start.

But we cannot do it if our hearts hurt
or lungs burn or can't find ways to work and
learn together because we are, it is
& that's it.

Whether drops of dew
Able diminish fire spark up in our home land?
Whether rice boil in well-off houses
Served the requirement of subjugated one of our home land?
Whether peace installed in meeting hall
Spread to countryside of our home land?
Everyone is in shrunken
With devastation malevolence’s follower,
Who dream that, they will make everything golden!
Therefore, my grandmother said
“We are just with soil, water and air
Don’t dream about gold or silver, it will wipe out your vigour to survive!
Go for vocation to nurture soil;
Bring in water, profoundly breath air...
You will grow along with other!”

Bring to an end of this
Game of killing!
Bring to an end of this
Game of power to exploit the hard-up!
Bring to end of this
Game of censure each other!
Starts and look forward for opulence of all and sundry
Standing hand in hand
Working with head, heart and hand
No one can stand alone!
Give us a chance,
to live in concert !  
Bring everyone closer!
Bring new trust to moving together!
Transmit and get going vocation for concord and goodwill!

There is a turning point on the road
Where three different roads are connected to a point
One lead to holiness of eternity,
One is towards wisdom to explore through vocation,
and another one is towards world of embryonic market
to eat, drink and muddle!  
We are standing on this turning point
from a historic past,
Searching and researching
to identify the apt way to step forward...
Probably it is the great chase of life.

Sticky hands-
the price of touching delicious things.

And no matter how I handle you...
from the spout, with a mitt, upside down,
you get all over my mind
you sneak your way into thoughts that
haven't even come close to you.

And for each drop of soap
an ounce of appetite comes to tip the scale.

A sticky heart.
That's the price of touching delicious things.