Never fear, never fear, my dear,
Our souls, already, to each adhere
Though the now may fill with fear
Never fear, never fear, my dear

Fear of loving, fear of past
Tears from someone coming fast
Passion and pain, life at last
No one said you could not cast...

.....another doubt into the mix
Hurry! Run!  He needs a fix
Magic, voodoo, sorcery tricks.

Never satisfied. But why?

I don’t want to be a tourist,
but a traveler in your land
I want to be a wanderer
lost in the most unlikely trails
For your chaste beauty lies in
Those long abandoned grounds
Of wildly growing weeds and the
Secret tunnels you have built for
The permeation of your
Hymns and cries,
I am aware that you have been haunted by
The crawling black clouds, and i
Can’t always promise to paint rainbows
In your skies or straighten your paths,
But I know that I will love
Every of your rain drops and
Sound of thunder, I will dance in your
Barren lands and climb every of your hills
Because of all the lands I have traveled,
Only yours feels closest to home.

My mother was 20 when it happened
in a dark veil, she planted a fruit of nine months
in the ground, never to grow again, and
even though she never talks about it, I can still
see the pain, sometimes in her hollow cheekbones,
frail shoulders and in every sad smile on seeing
a little boy.
The summer that was supposed to fill
my mother with cacophony of newborn cries
and shouts, only brought sadistic tune of death,
that summer I’m sure my mother must have
counted all her sins for the fate she received
and even though my mother still prays to God
every day, I doubt if she never hated Him, that
summer she must have rocked the little cot,
she still preserves like her precious, back and forth,
her mind racing likewise to every “what if”s,
my father still praises her of being a strong woman,
she never cried except for that one day, the doctor
entered her room with a grim face and empty hands,
my mother has raised her other kids to be good people,
she never poured her feelings to us, never shut herself
to dig into the harsh memories of that stillborn, but
I know her pain resides in her every nerves and veins,
she carries her tears at bay but not for once lets
waves overcome her, my mother is a strong woman,
30 years of that incidence and my mother still holds
onto those memories firmly, like it was only yesterday.
My mother must see him in every little boy,
from the park, she must imagine him as a 10 year old,
living next door, her body has shrunken like the raisin
in water, but that memory has still not faded, still not
covered a layer of dust because she goes down that
memory lane, every night, tugs at her hair, bites at
her shawl to keep from screaming, my mother is a strong woman,
I’ve never see her crying.

When my doctor diagnosed me as a schizophrenic,
My mother broke into tears, like it was worse thing anyone
Could be, I wanted to tell her to stop, it was starting to feel
Too unreal, I have been living in this mind for so long,
That I have turned against this world, which
Looks at me like I’m a burden to carry, I talk to air
Sometimes, it’s not insanity, not everything you can’t see is
Insanity, I sometimes see my grandmother, and I tell her
I miss her that I’m sorry I wasn’t there when she counted
Her last breath, you might feel it to be weird, but it’s not worse
Than this guilt gnawing at me, my mind is a canvas painted
By thousands of painters, and the pictures here don’t make sense,
But art doesn’t need to make sense.
I feel like a graveyard sometimes, haunted by the souls
That will never leave me, I feel like a morgue sometimes,
Walking around with my own corpse, that bleeds sometimes,
I am not abnormal or special or weird,
I see constellation in people, and I see a ray in you
When you smile, my hand stutters objecting to human
Touch, and I don’t call out for hugs, but this body could use some
Warmth, my imagination doesn’t run ahead, it goes round
And round,
Living in this body, is like inhabiting with a foe,
Which slowly takes over you, and you have no shield,
These meds help you sleep dreamless at night, but
They won’t protect you, nothing will be here to
Clutch on when demons that resides in you arrive,
So all you do is crawl on your bed, trying to take
As less space as possible, not letting the fear
Cover every part of you, you think you’re still here,
But you’re not, and thats exactly how it feels like
Living in a schizophrenic mind.

If you were broken, and i had the parts to fix you
i would work on you both night and day
but, i'm afraid the parts that i use would mix you
and take the best parts of you away