The city is shut, sparing its prey until tomorrow. Night rules, dreams creep down the street, eyes dead
Her poised being is the center of universe, that girl
She is loath to beg yet for the twenty fourth time of the night she sings out, God?
It’s two in the morning and they are sitting at the balcony, God and her, both holding a cigarette
Mother and father are in screaming colors but she is, only, the darkest blue
Two of them are contradiction, a vexing rendezvous but they yearn for each other so once in a while they talk

People talk
A boy across the house is found dead
Parents roaring, raging, crashing the ground, he’s wearing a pair of new basketball shoes. Blue.
He is one of million, a delicate kind, very comely, a subtle presence. Neighbors murmur maybe God
fell in love, maybe God enraptured by the boy. But God is peeking behind the closed door with the girl
Between their fingers still a burning cigarette

Maybe it’s the taste of Marlboro Red, the girl
wishing an epiphany, a revelation, for its been too long, the girl and God
writing each other’s eulogy. The girl has been dead for God and God has been dead
for the girl, ruptured for a very long time, there’s no way back. No long talk
can fix the burn of cigarette,
the eternal crippling affliction taped up in every cavity inside the holy temple of their body

A lady in the house with doors and windows painted blue
is murdered. She was having a dalliance and neighbors talk
behind their open bible. God cringes, God recoils, her god is a beige-tied, cigarette
scented with hair slicked back. She was in his thrall, calls her name in a mesmerizingly fetching way making her girl
again, an ingénue with a pair of chatoyant eyes. Bodies clashing, her muse, they fuse, he choose to ruse, dead,
God is amused, time is lapsed, but perhaps she was not divine. A lady in someone’s car trunk, murdered, dear God!

Inhaling. Conflating. Cigarette
smoke all over the veins. A bright blue
car parked across the street. A week since the boy died. A week since the lady went missing. People talk
about somewhere this week another dead
body is going to be found. Maybe in the park under the slide or on a high school bleacher, like the girl found God
under her bed. The first encounter of God and the girl.

and the girl run out of cigarette
counting the days God and the girl
Next time won’t be cigarette and balcony. God and the girl next time at a bar with blue
sign where sinners and saints sipping absinthe because God won’t talk
to anyone but the girl. God and the girl sipping absinthe because the city is shut. Eyes dead.
it's really hard to see the sestina pattern, but the six words i use are dead, girl, god, cigarette, blue, and talk.
Last night I was shivering
I owned sorrow as mine
You came forward filling the night
Within unseen kisses and hugs

The silence mocked
The pain knocked
What seemed so right turned wrong
What has provoked slowly revoked

You once told me to be brave
Just to obey what has taught me
And what has ruled and created me
I'm no one to be, no one to be

Darling, I've seen tiredness in your eyes
And the hiding grim behind your smiles
Let me wound the sadness for you
So will I weep the scars that gnaw you

We afford too much sore to cope
And wandering too much for home
We've forgotten, we've been untold
That we have each other to hold.

My love, we should've known to whom we belong.

Feb, 12 2016.
09:51 pm
I'm quite insane.
We kissed us
A fine windy evening
So warm and gentle, yet thrilling
We grasped, we held, we touched

It felt quite eloquent
We tasted each other bitterness
And sensed each pain we had
We mourned, we grieved, we gnawed

We had our eyes slightly closed
Time's told to stop ambling
The universe dropped dead
As goddesses were gazing

We kissed us
We collated each other laxity
We created another rhapsody
We possessed as we became one

Jan, 28 2016.
My  love,
Mon chéri,
Mi amor,
Nothing can soothe
The pain,
La douleur,
El dolor,
And nothing can give me
La esperanza*
I was there,
But you woke me up.
You woke me up to
Reality ,
You woke me up to
And I want to sleep
There's no such thing as broken dreams
Only broken dreamers.
Don't count yourself in.

Maybe it's not just the right time for it.
Do not give it up.
Live it.

God's NO is not a rejection it's a REDIRECTION.
Trust in Him for He prepared a beautiful future for those who trust in Him with all--their hearts, strength, soul and mind.
(Jeremiah 29:11)
 Mar 2015 Detha Prastyphylia
 Mar 2015 Detha Prastyphylia
Remember this: you only die once,
                                   but you live everyday.
You are vile, cruel to women and callous,
This is not my country...this is not my home.

Your men fight battles over themselves
Cowards who wag tails for authority
and are not ashamed to beat up the weak
This is not my country...this is not my home

You who have silenced so many
On the topic of rape, sexual harassment and other crimes

You who have given me no choice as a woman
but to cleave my way through your vile judgments

Your insolence is all I can see, and I don't wish to return

I don't wish to be loyal to one who cannot hold any respect

For me or my fellow women

this is not my country.

this is not my home.
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