It's so easy
to write while grief spews from
the greatest depths of your character.
Everyone, too,
needs to read about the heartbreak,
the lingering heartache that makes
life decisions feel like clouds.
And it's so easy to give in
and put pitied pen to paper,
and the beautiful only
blossoms with agony, angst, and anger.
Infrequently, though,
can you really find the blood curdling words
that turn ache into anything but
agony. Only then
is a poet born.

I refuse to be one of those people
that everyone chooses to love once she is dead
Don't wait until I'm lifeless and can no longer hear you
to start giving a **** about me
If I wasn't good enough for you while I was alive
I sure as hell won't be good enough for you when I'm dead
If there is something you need to tell me
do it while I can still hear you
If you want to see me
make plans with me
If you love me
tell me while I am still here to love you back
Do not wait until I am a pile of ashes
to confess everything you ever wanted to say to me

A letter to my dear,
Sons and daughters
In a foreign language
Not known in my time,
But with hope in yours.
Where they may have fixed the
Imbalance of life.

I wish not to depress you,
But repress your mind
As my first impression is to point
A finger to time
The one whom answers
Questions in installments.

For this man once put me on stage
And my agenda was to impress
Twice to the infinite I could count
But I couldn’t find that one in my life.
Where are you?


Thus the nature I was born in,
Is to interest the world
And not bore it with normality
Not knowing that peace comes in many ways

For this foreign language
Seems to be a new era
Of blank pages that could be
Filled with one word
GREATNESS.

For yesterday I did things of shame
That are great for a story
That would become fame
Just the perfect ice breaker in my time.
Tip for if you ever find\have TIMEtoTRAVEL

Thus my vote belonged to extinction,
Since…



Justice is a commodity
Of the rich
As poverty is beautiful
Beautiful without the eye’s of the lens.

Though I don’t have doesn’t mean
Am not/I can’t
As My sight is set to the sky
Chasing a flower in the clouds as
I am still on the ground investing an idea.


Thus the gap of the market to success
Is the economics of humanities fate
As the scarcity of fear rises
Demand and supply seem to be losing
In a relation of ships
At  bay lacking goods.
On this graphic coordinates

Just may you understand
Humanity has no time to
Find you in the dark
For smoke signals will be put out
Neither translate your existence
If it’s not the curiosity that killed the cat.
Like “Chuck Norris whom speaks French in Russian”.

For they live on a constant
Quote status of
“I am available, but busy
At school watching a movie,
While at work
With a battery about to die
So I can’t talk, Whats App only
In a meeting at the gym
Sleeping on urgent calls only.”

As I myself live knowing
I speak a FOREIGN LANGUAGE ……
What is your translation of my existence???
For it seems your mistaken and troubled.
For generations to come.

Yours sincerely;
Poet Kiri
N. HANNY L.


PS: Life has gone digital
       Thus its STATUS RATED ®.
                                     Yours truly;
                                       Is to be the ONE.


©Hansmind, 2016