You are One in a million
But a million in one
It's what I want

Yet you are nowhere to be found

bouncing like a ball
on hallway while mother shops;
yippee, yup! said, who?

a pen wobbles
at the edge of a wooden desk
yearning for a hand

together
hands hurry
Mr. Time

Just a little more...

I've been carrying this weight on my shoulders,
My knees are bent. My arms are tired. But I keep walking step by step. Right first. Then left. Yet these roads are filled with potholes. I almost stumbled upon a puddle. But today, I saw the mountain. I'm almost there.

Just a little more...

I'm like a coin in a pocket.
Always falling unpredictably,
and clumsily onto the floor,
I lay there, until someone picks me up.
They get me in their pockets,
And I stay there, feeling safe,
Until once again, I fall onto the floor,
By their careless mistakes,
and they don't even realize it -
that I am gone, until they need me,
To buy something with my worth.

Whenever I’m hot
the ceiling fan gets turn on
Till I’m blown away

teeth clenched tightly into skin
blood dripping from within
a dog fastened onto arm
a bike rode directly into harm

people watching from afar
a lady being eaten, left with scars
sirens getting louder on the road
cops arriving to the abode

children screaming really loud
paramedics going through the crowd
flesh torn to pieces, left a pool of red
disfigure face, bitten in the head

What a horror! What a mess!
a dog, a lady in distress.

I never wanted to be the sun
but surely enough
I wished to be a source of light.
Surprisingly, I was a lightbulb
meant to lighten a room
who sooner or later, burned out.

July 9, 2019

wiggling tail
a husky barks at a leash
like yelling for freedom

a bluebird
sings at night
lovers kiss

on a book
pens his name
an author

Tonight, I don't see the moon outside my window,
there's not weeping tree covered with snow,
there aren't any clouds above the sky looking like pillows,
yet I can't help but dream about some weeping willows,
those trees, that I would like to see outside my window,
as I embrace, laid on bed, my own pillow,
as I laid on bed, embracing sorrow,
wishing to see a weeping willow outside my window
covered with snow, covered, looking like a pillow
to embraced, to hug, to feel the coldness of my sorrow,

awake me from dreaming of a weeping willow.

Be you but not the you
Everyone wants you to be
Rather the you
that makes you feel at peace
The one that pushes you to climb towards mountains of progress
And never towards a cliff of failure,
where you could find yourself on the edge of madness,
losing your head, and while at it, your sanity,
But hey,
be mindful that while you climb towards success, your foot may slipped with the rocks that get on your way, that isn't failure, it's just a slip and nothing else...

Remember be yourself

I added
a bit of bitsy liquid sugar
A viscous substance,
Now
dripping from my spoon
like moonlight onto a lake of cereal

Oh that sweet, motherly nectar
That in between petals
flourished
That which with pollen
Bees pollinated
And that from which
They made
Honey
And my bowl of cornflakes
Taste
So sweetly

I wasn't a rose, nor a bud,
I wasnt blooming in love,
I did not have thorns,
I wasn't green either,
I tell you, I am not a flower

I'm made out of flesh and bones,
I have a spinal cord to stand tall,
I'm made with a brain system,
God gave me my intellect.

Thus I'm like the roots of a plant,
I like absorbing knowledge as it was water
Specially when the topics are hot,
Heating debates like summers,
Makes me thirst for more,

But I'm not a flower

I wanted to be,
just to be...

and I was.

But I was
not what I wanted to be;
a little bee,
buzz and buzz,
flying,
in search of a flower,
with the nectar,
with the saccharine sweetness
of a kiss,
that'll help me make honey,
sweet honey,
out of this life,

I live.

But instead,
I was the flower,
with colorful petals,
in a garden full with trees,
that blossom in happiness
and eventually,
was found
by a bee

When writing a poem, I was told:
"Do not repeat the same words."
I asked, "why not?"

Their reply:
"Repetition can be annoying
and unappealing
for those who are reading your poems"

At that moment, I wish I had replied:

" I repeat whatever I wish to repeat
because when I repeat myself,
I practice my repetition to the point
that whatever it was that I repeated
no longer sounds unappealing"

but instead,

I only wrote whatever I wrote
without writing what I wished to write,
( that is, I wished to write
without repeating words just to follow
the advice someone once told me
I should do, when writing a poem)
but instead, I wrote without writing
what my wishes were,
and now, I'm glad that whatever I write
nowadays is written
not by how I wish to write
but by how the write
should be written

just like that

Seems today it's just this empty bottle on the table
Me and a couple of strangers
Sitting in front of the bending machines
It's always like this, isn't it?

We gaze to every corner of the room, to every direction as if looking for another human to interact with, expect we never gaze into each other eyes.

Sigh

Someone just left...

--

Ive been meaning to write more often than ever
But exams have been consuming my thoughts
They have no energy to run
And who am I kidding? It's not my thoughts
but me whose energy has been depleted

Often I thought it was him, rather us,
Who didn't have energy to go on
Who didn't have electricity to keep a relationship going
But There was no chemistry
there was no relationship
Only chats
Conversations
that hold a meaning
and a couple of memories
that all lead back
to a screen
to this screen

I'm certain


That whomever reads those conversations
would think
It's just another one of my poems...

Something is Off and it’s not the light.
The room is illuminated.
But as illuminated as it is, I still fail to see
that which is Off.

Today, I think of The Amazon,
And how illuminated it must be
It’s full of fires growing strong

While walking on a bridge,

A kid said:

Whenever I fall, I'm like the snow
That turns you white
And leaves you cold,
Right, dad?

And the dad said:

Whenever you fall, you are like a cyclone
That hits our home
And leaves me scared
And without a wallet.

So watch your step, son.

I tried to let my ego go,
but my ego did not loved me at all.
It did not let me go.

It grabbed my heart tighter,
as if wanting me to believe
that the only reason my heart beat
was for its love

Yet my heart did not beat for it

It only bled

Everyday before dusk turns to dawn,
I read a couple of poems in my bed time,
I also write a couple of poems before I close my eyes,
and I arrived to a possible conclusion that...

It is the silence of the night:
the muse that speaks in lullabies,
and seduces me to write,
even when the contents of the poems have nothing to do with my life.
I feel posses. In a trance.
As if am dancing in a dream
where words are the waltz:
the music that moves me into his arms.
that makes me gaze into his eyes.
as if we were in a ballroom.
Dressed in metaphors.
Highlighted by the moon.
Gyrating with our thoughts.
Having the night of our lives,

just dancing him and I
Just dancing our way out

into the world where poetry is alive.

2015

In this depressive day, when rain falls like tears
could you hold me like a pen, in between your hand?
and once you have secured me by the waist
Could you move me until you write everything I say?
For I tend to forget that I too can express myself.

it's been a while since I wrote like I usually do
without paying attention to meter or rhymes
but rather by just jotting my thoughts down
as if I were drawing
scribbling lines, dots, shapes, multiple
doodles that resemble snakes
that bite, coil, and rattle
as they slither through paper from pen

To then attack

as if the paper was the ground where I stood,
calmly gazing onto the sky of my imagination,
getting lost within the lines of thoughts,
as if the lines were the clouds moving, and moving,
just moving nothing but me to write
a windy passage of time
that blows
and blows away
the doodles
of snakes
into
a piece
of art

I feel like I am missing something...

Is it you?
or is it poetry?


The strange ache in my chest is coming back again,
and I cannot explain it
but it aches, it burns, as if I had drank alcohol
but ******,
I haven't drink, not even a drop.

I just want to curl up into a ball, turn off the lights of my room, and sleep it off.
I want to hybernate the entire month of December,
I don't want to go out, I want to stay in, I just want to stay in.


There's so much ache, I do not like alcohol.
It intensifies the ache, and I just want to sleep it off.
I want to hold my pillow, I want to sit in one corner, curl up into a ball. I want to go to and fro, to and fro, leaning front and back,
front and back, as if I was listening to waves, going
to and fro, to and fro, calm, tranquil, retreating backwards,
ebbing back into the sun...


But life doesn't let me sleep. It continues awakening me.
It continues calling me. And I just want to sleep the ache,
I want to dream that I live in peace, but my dreams are vast, too vast that even when life calls me, its voice echoes, twice, thrice,
"wake up"


I open my eyes, there's the light...
Life doens't want me to sleep in darkness, it wants me to awake... to open my eyes, to no longer be blinded by it's brightness...

I came to be nothing but a shell
swayed by ocean waves
to and fro, to and fro,
landing on a shore, close to palms, and the sun

Dec 1, 2015

My mom thinks I am depressed.
She thinks I'm sad beyond measure.
But I don't think I am.
Yet, sometimes, I think, I might as well be.

After all, since the moment I was born
I'm like the ground
feeling people's steps and weight on my shoulders
( even when they don't walk directly on me.)

I mean, I'm just like the ground
that can't do anything to lift people's worries out of them
They take care of me but I remain floored,
fixed to the idea that I am just me...

a ground
that don't have feet to walk  a  life of its own.

a ground
that don't have hands to build a world to live peacefully.

but then, I think, "No, I'm not a ground.
I'm a human with feet and hand.
I'm a human with a heart and mind.
I'm a human capable of creating a beautiful life"

But then I remember again that I'm depressed,
And I can't stop thinking that I am like the ground:
depressing as I feel people's steps and weight on my shoulders
( even when they don't walk directly on me),
drowning in this depression as I let people's problems rain on me

And I began to depress a lot more...

Until I realize that this depression, has made me gain depth.

the thoughts are not a box of chocolates to be eaten
the thoughts are like drops of water that one after another
accumulate to form rivers

These rivers run amuck with no particular course...

But at times, the thoughts go in search of an ocean

for the biggest of body of water,
they yearn to be one with the ocean

God is not the sun,
He is the ocean
where all the rivers try to get to

and each of us
is a drop
that when combined with other drops
create a body of water

yet I heard someone
once say
"you are an ocean in one drop"

So I supposed,
one drop can hold the ocean
and one ocean can hold many many drops

You are too young and too much of an amateur
to be looking for clues where there are none.

instead, my dear,
just do what you have been doing all along
write what you feel, feel what you write,
and let your imagination run wild

in due time,
you'll come to know
where creativity
is born

Okay, I won't say what my eyes saw
I won't say what my ears heard
But I would say what my heart felt
And I would speak what my soul feels today
---

A road, again, walked on and on
This road leads to a world
Where thoughts stream seamlessly
Towards the radiance of the sun

And I walk, step by step,
Often distracted by the signs,
I encounter as I walk

But many times, I keep on going on
without caring about
the signs I encountered,
I ignored them through
And I just see ahead upon the road
The scenery itself that I leave behind
And i keep walk onwards

This road is endless
It seems it has no end

But I walk and walk on it
I walk it with my words
Sometimes I feel breathless
And take a break
Upon the sidewalk,
Until I start to walk again
Towards a journey I cannot explain

But my souls feels like an explorer
Like I have discovered the greatest lands
Where pastures abound, greens everywhere!
Waterfalls falling, rivers flowing,
Eagles flying up up above in the sky
So much beauty,
That I can only feel but not write.

Like rain that clouds cry
we came to fall from the sky
to be a multitude of drops
that form a tiny little pond

but then as time went by
and as we stood there calm
there came a force
that with a jump
scattered us, splish - splash,
some drops in here,
some drops in there,

just for us to form
two tiny little ponds.

But then as time went by
and as the heat of the day
began to increment
we started to evaporate

to once again be
like rain that clouds cry
to be a multitude of drops
that form a tiny little pond

to then as time goes by
become scattered by a force
to form many tiny little ponds

that then as the heat of the day
begins to increment
we start to evaporate

to once again be
like rain that clouds cry....

If I ever feel the earth tremble,
It would be because love came
to move my world for me

It would feel as if the gates of heaven opened
As the earth quakes and shakes
And as people stop their madness
To see the brightest of the lights meet their eyes

Imagine all gathered up in circles, hand in hand,
Like a human chain, standing around heavens gates.
All prepared to meet the judgement day
Together, supporting each other, helping one another,
Not letting a single one end up in Hell.

Someday, I'll be like a volcano
underneath the sea-
immersed in depth
awaiting to erupt with wisdom
And create an island
where people can step on and rest

Did you? Did you not?
I know you did.
like I did
when you did not know,
That I did.

But I still did,
I told you I did do,
Right after I did,
So at first you did not know
But then you did know
Because I did
Told you after I did do.

So did you did do too?

Drop
... drop
......drop dead

a single drop of blood,
then it rains

...............drop
.................. drop
.......................drop dead

a single cloud of dark thoughts
then begins to rain

..................drop
.....................drop
..........­..............drop....

Till it rains
the dark thoughts out of your head

........ drop
............drop
...............drop

the idea of dropping dead
Make it rain

Love,

Water me with hopes as if I were that flower in your garden.
Don't let me thirst for them,
Else, I may grow roots deep into the soil where I was planted,
until I find them...



---
Yes...

I won't be that flower that stays in one spot,
And then dries and withers and dies
I won't be that flower that blooms once in love,
And then dries and withers and dies

But I would be that flower that blooms
each and every time
whenever you are around.

I would be that flower
that only wishes to capture your sight
And to inspire you to be the best of best in life.

It was when the lightbulb in the room,
Turned on.
Then turned off.
That the darkness in the room
enveloped me
in a blanket of pure comfort.

I laid there, fast asleep,
in a bed of nightmares,
that felt as cozy as any dream felt,
Yet when I hugged the pillows of heaven,
I felt the angels pinch my arms
with their feathers of consciousness,
Until I awoke from my slumber,

Bleeding
And bleeding
With regrets
One
after another.

Then the light in my room turned on.

And I was enlighten.

To write a story in free verse
is to let the prose in you go berserk
or to let the feelings that wish to come out of you, go
As if these feelings are the one you love

Just like people say

If you love someone let them go,
If they comeback they were yours
If not they never were

a wild rose
flowers thorns
on a stem

the ocean
waves hello's
to the sky

with hands in pocket
a man shrugs to gravelly days
feet kicking pebbles

a bear
growls loud
a gun

A day to pray,
I kneel to say,
My lord I'm here
On this bench

With my palms
In front of me
I come to you
To seek the truth
In this church
Your humble abode
That I call home
I come to you
Please free my soul
My loving God

And let me burn
From any sin
Like the incense
In the altar does
Free

It's not the moon that comes at night,
Nor the stars that shine up far
That makes me fear to be like them
So far away, so far away

It's not the darkness that I fear
Nor the silence that I hear
When I do see them up above,
So far away, so far away

But it's the fear to be up there
So high above, all by myself
So far away, so far away

Don't get me wrong:

I'm not afraid to be alone
I'm not afraid to only be just with myself

But I do fear loneliness.

I don't know
My brain is not working
It said,
"the answers are within yourself"

But God,

I repeat, my brain is not working.

I believe our intellect is the key to goodness.
But God, how do we upgrade our intellect?

Is it possible God, that we are all connected to you - through our faith, that is like an umbilical cord,
And in order to grow, at some point, this umbilical cord must be cut?

Is it possible God, that we are on earth
Just to form ourselves? That we are some fetus developing in a womb of Mother Earth? And that when we are born, we are no longer connected to you, through this faith, someone cut the umbilical cord for us?

And while in her womb, Mother Earth nurture us with her love and takes care of ourselves? But we stretch inside of her as we develop, grow up, and hurt her in the process instead?

It's all part of growing up, right?

But is it possible God, that our connection to you - our faith, is only a means to feed ourselves when we are unable to do it on our own? Just like the Fetus that feeds from the mother, and still feeds by the mother upon growing up until he can do it himself?

Or God, is it possible that when we are finally born, we will be in heaven, we'll die on Earth, but our faith will still remain with us through our navel, our connection with you will have been sealed the moment our umbilical cord would have been cut?

Is it possible God, that our intellect is the one that will allow us to be born into heaven instead of just being a miscarriage that poisons our Mother Earth?

I’m like a grocery’s cart being pushed
around a store

I’m being packed
with things I have no used for
to then be left empty
somewhere in a parking lot

I carry everything that I can possibly can
sometimes none
sometimes more

I’m a basket with holes
that people can easily see through
and I just realized it today

I know knowing about the unknown
is something that I will know someday
yet knowing that I will know about the unknown
makes me want for it to be already that someday.
But without knowing, I already know
that wanting for me to be already that someday
makes me not know THAT which I already know
that is
that each and every day
I know a little bit more about the unknown
yet I just yearn for that someday to come
still not knowing
that THAT someday is part of my every today.


July 15, 2016