she inquires why I write so many poems,
easy comes reply:
It gives me a fantastic living,
it makes and gives, each poem,
a calculation, a reconciliation
of who I am...a miner of the
mineral wealth in my veins

I feel it pull
on me,
im not meant
for it,
the weight
of love

look, and you will see
what you’re searching for
you already are
just deep inside you, not inside of me
it's not my opinion
that matters the most
no, then you will get lost
craving at all costs
it's yours to know if you're doing alright
deep inside
you know
for what the kid will bow
kindness it is
not egoism
for your own bliss
remember this
you can’t dismiss

"But the vain man did not hear him. Vain men never hear anything but praise."
--- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Le Petit Prince

it was dark and tender
my dad next to me
I was five
so free
at the driveway
we be

at some point
of the night
we looked upon the sky

I don't know why

we looked at the north
I saw a star so bright
with the colour of light

I looked him in the eyes
and said
“that's…grandpa”
flying so high

he said “no”

that's the northern star
it will always be
the brightest of them all
it's there when you seek
a guide to peek

when you've traveled so far
where no one can fish
when you wonder
‘Is this… ?’
or
‘What if…?’’
remember the star
that's it

language from stardust
loosened tongues on Earth
chattering like birds

a flock of Humans
a family of birds
silence in motion

twirling sunlight
a lovers Moon
the forever dream

The street is washed in a morning hush,
Tiles whisper stories under rush.
A woman walks in flowery grace,
her dress flowing behind her
A building in the background keeps watch
Over all that’s there
Like a silent protector

Between the stone and sky’s soft blue,
The city breathes in something true.
Modern windows, ancient light—
the city begins the day just right.
It’s morning.