Someday I’ll finish unpacking.
It’s going to take time, though—
I have too many memories.

A word after more words,
Creates other dimensions.
Changing entire generations,
A whole new structure,
Built for different intentions.
Persuading,
Emotional expression,
trickier purposes —
Like old plain manipulation.
Of an individual,
Or perhaps a huge nation.
So take precautions.
As this is a cautionary tale.
Since you are building,
Each line of yours
can either shape or break.
After all,
Here,
we all are
What In my mind
I like to call:
“The World’s oldest Architects”

Sundays are made for God and for poetry.
For they both can see us fully through.

You inspired me to arise,
to improve,
to survive.
I owe you nothing,
and
        everything
                           I have.

Cruelest sensation
Rain needles on my skin—
Still warm from
that last ray of sunshine

Maybe I'll be an eternal nomad,
Since my only home is in your arms.

A lo mejor sere una eterna nómada,
porque mi único hogar esta en tus brazos.

I thought you seem familiar—

I don’t know if remember you,

From another lifetime,

Where you also let me down—


                                        Just  gentler.

Parallel lines once—
Somehow converging
At such an improbable intersection
No equation calculated the outcome
If x was the distance,
God turned engineer—
Solving the crossing,
Integrating us.

If my body were strings—
Dancing to pure vibration
Granting the possibility
of lively, touchable matter,
Matter itself would hinge
on the sweet tremor of your name.

It sure felt the rip—
Heart out my ribs—
when your voice went silent.

Still,
in love-frequencies,
such filaments rejoice:
knotting and tangling
replaying us through
Several hidden dimensions—

Or whatever modern physics
keeps hinting at it.

I lost my focus—dreaming a quantum leap—

Believe me:
Such threads tense at every thought
of their plausible alignments:
A bunch of them making
Your ancestors’ atoms colliding!
Just so one day
— for my own personal desire—
one random entanglement
could finally produce—
the loveliest colour
your eyes would have.

April.. you were a sweet reminder
of the joyous oath of spring—
Slowly but surely,
coaxed the cold to give in..
I have this theory:
Yours are the days
love nests to begin.
Call it cliché, that’s the way it must be
Scented your days are with blossom;
Roses and hope in bloom and in glee!

My, my, May!
you were so good to me!
You may as well be
my favourite of the three!
Your daylight hugs feel so sincere;
Quick-witted, heart-warmth breeze;
Birdsongs are echoes of
Family laughs and cheers—
May, please— I’m on my knees!
Like a lover that’s bright,
And made just for me—
The rest of the year I’ll be craving your heat!

A little dramatic,
But June, don’t despair!
Handle your grace
and sun-varnished grass trace,
Don’t be shy—bring lilac skies;
Let’s walk in warm sand,
I’ve got you by the hand.
No doubt at all, but pure delight,
You are already opening
beautifully right !

I’d like your taste to linger
A little longer on my lips—
Citrusy-bright,  caramel-rich acacia honey;
You fizz, umami.
  A hint of cashews— yes, I’m nuts for your being!
So sweet, sugary, cavity-worthy—Guilt-free.
A flavour I should let just fade out..
For the inevitable,
minty and cold reality
scheduled to rinse it