we are the dunes formed
by prevailing desert winds
of people and time

Why do we ask for discounts
  from small businesses of
    aspiring people
  but flaunt about the price tags
of designer clothes?

Why do we celebrate the pain of
  hit sad songs but not those
    troubled people
  who wrote them
and their real stories?

Why do we hesitate to show
  our feelings towards our
    favorite people
  and resort to wasting
precious time away?

Why do we subject to our own
  beliefs and constructions the
    boundless people
  and be always ready
to judge and bring them down?

Why can't we be the kind who
  makes this world bearable to
    all kinds of people?

I hope you care
enough to share
the point of conversations.

Relax, start with a smile,
make it worth your while,
spread some good vibrations.

I wish you try to know
back what they ask you to show,
exchanging information.

Never forget the value
of asking back "And you?"
when answering all questions.

Look in the eye
for those windows never lie
about their deepest emotions.

Be kind, be real,
trust and let them feel
that love defies limitations.

mum's in the big bed
da's on the living room couch
i'm the hall between

Our cycle of grit and grind
The brutal societal kind
Left the warm insides dry
To want ***** on the fly

Stretch the muscles sore
Yet he runs back for more
Forget the need to vent
Boy, you need to pay rent

Those arms toned healthy
By street dancing and Tai Chi
Are used as gears of machines
Or to wipe **** ***** clean

Those great young Picassos
Or those potential Platos
Have their way to top so steep
Since ideas and art are cheap

Those beautiful people
Paid to lend their *******
To wolves of superior collar
Proudly sorted by the color

The herd united in this song
La la la, there's nothing wrong
We are all numb as hookers
The system—the avid customer

the scent of her sweat
cigarette ash on my skin
she says, "don't forget."
as she whispers to my ear
the story of how we met

lads water her mind
"You look so gorgeous today"
but she's done with scripts
she tests those eyes if they stay
when trivial beauty is stripped

I looked at the bay
it glared back streaks of sunrise
a soul at my shore
the fleeting burn tells my own
I have known those eyes before

for months, the kind son
looked over her living corpse
to prolong her breath
but tonight he stepped outside
to waste his with cigarettes

"Dad, fix the window!"
kids gathered to watch his craft:
woodwork cracked nail bent
he never tried to know much
but that fed them and paid rent

if life's a creature
all these wars are just its own
choking *******

where drunken souls use
the line "I wanna *******."
as a compliment

the flares of my eyes
are nothing but a warning
that fire seeks the air
found in sacred cavities
of your heart and memories

meet me in the gaze
bear a lawless mind armed with
infinite queries
for the key is to not peek
through the locks of broken hearts

there's a thin white line
between "glad because of it"
and "sad without it"

a long hit puts my
lungs to knots as if telling
to love is to hurt

a sudden loud honk
of a car shook my senses
as I crossed the street
that's how it felt waking up
to the fact that something's gone

i lack that courage
to watch a drop of liquid
fall into my eye

if eyes were mirrors
a child's are a calm lake as
they reflect the stars

I drew the second third line
A first fourth one is on deck
Knew I inked them finely fine
Still, I go check and recheck

Marvelously filleted corners
Cleave an unsettling sound
Put compass back on paper
Just to make sure it's round

Anxiety was bound to happen
To the fifth first line I go back
Again, I sharpen and sharpen
But I give up, made it all black

Perfection is not my liberty
But a numb skin I wish to flay
Half of my mind seeks symmetry
Yet the other  half  
                                 is    in
                                          disarray

my head is in throbs
induced by the drink called 'her'
the ceiling stares back
the morning sun's painful smile
patches the hole for a while

We are too scared
      to have
  what we are too scared
        to lose;
     We are too scared
           to love
        when we are too scared
              to choose.

she had always kept
her own idea of him
like a bad tattoo
making sense of those blurred lines
rationalizing regrets

A series
of short puffs
from a rekindled
cigarette expertly put out
on the half
reminds you of your
fastidiousness
now you feel like **** as you look
at the wreckage site
of a desk that
is your own doing
       That is what you do.

While your ego
floats like the unmelted
coffee you put in cold water
Hardly dissolvable
to anything normal
missing anything temporal
You lash out once more
waging a war
with a nation
of thoughts
You kick the furniture
to send the dust flying
       That is what you do.

You attempt to sheathe
an intricate wound
patterned on your
knuckle, as detailed as the
dystopia of your
own human agenda that
can be trivialized by just
"I haven't been myself lately"
when somebody asks
because you're afraid
they might see
you find it
                hard
          to
  belong
Slowly, the dust resorts to settle
on the bedroom floor
       And so do you.

gasping through my ear
warm bare hands slither beneath
sneaking through tight skin
i steer waves you shut those eyes
leave the realm where lust is sin

as a child it took me
a while to know
I was not living
in a tale where you tend a
toothless dragon
and fly;
where you accompany
a hobbit with a ring
through a war;
you just come to that age
where your powers
are stripped
you then start your life
sometimes the weight
of the world is just gravity
you can't "Hasta La Vista" away
sometimes the antagonist is
your anxiety
the prison break
is in your room
the holy war is your
struggle to get up
from bed
and sometimes the
glimmering meadows
on the way home
from the journey
are not followed
by credits rolling
but like a stone you do
never falling into place
like a lost jigsaw
if the puzzle was planned
it would be against you
all brutal and ******
but all up to entropy
there's no boy who lived
nor a chosen one
we are stardust put together
in such a way
whether or not it means anything
is up to you because
there is not plot
but your dreams
the force may not always
be with you
you have to be the force

if our souls were lines
mine is parallel to hers
close but never meet

if lust's a sin whose
intention is overlooked
man should not exist

This world is in disarray
Not an opinion
But a fact default in our minds
We are all alone

But this night is beautiful
Not a fact
But an opinion, silently borne
When your eyes speak to mine

I wish you told me more
Not about home
But when all our minds fly
I remember you like this

Play music through this cold ride
Not their rhapsodies
But just this one song
The only one we'll ever know

Seize the time we are out of
Not tomorrow
But tonight, you saved me
And this is enough

drawn against the flame
she lends me her broken limbs
an earthly musk breaks
the stars brought before my eyes
a fleeting insanity

a wan moonlight wades
the pond of the cold tiled floor
beaming existence
I could look up yet choose a
reflection of its presence

I hated it
when your beauty
had to be seen
by countless sets of eyes.
Your shapes and tones
tampered by a
carefully blended touch
of Lark and Juno
as if they represent you well.
I still know
those details
dumb pictures could
never tell.

I hated it
that I knew you were once
carefree.
One, two, three;
Now you wait and count
as they gift
two-dimensional hearts
through ungrateful fingertips.
By then your pedestal
moved up the
ever-refreshing gallery—
A glorified platform
where your beauty
is seen as commodity.
I knew a better use of
those fingers
at that time your
textures lingered.
Soft and calm,
damp and warm;
you were unparalleled
at least for me.

I hate it
that now my
proximate gazes
only graze
your distorted
ideals of real touch
and of real pain;
when each ornate sunrise
embedded on the
landscape of your pores
seek for a casual
tourist's approval.
Hell, I wanted to stay
like an immigrant castaway
living in your skin
day and night;
when you didn't need
to trend
and pretend
that you have certain angles
because you were a
three-*******-sixty—
A panoramic view
of an ancient city
and your valleys were never dry;
back to the era
when you never had to try.
For you I was always homesick
but I still know
to get burnt by young love
was quick.

We were bound
to grow apart.

I hate it
when all I could do
is scroll up
and forget you.

enlightenment in
perceiving one's existence
comes with suffering
of knowing one's nothingness—
reason to stop existing

just came home past twelve
felt my tired feet and thick eyes
the "fruits of labor"

one must say, "I'm set"
for the noblest human role
of bearing a child
it is not just a fruit of
those nights we lack conviction

the dank soil tightened
scent of relief after rain
sunset burned like sighs
in time the gray sky turns blue
so do the streaks in their eyes

with faith I prayed at
your halls, awaiting advent
a priceless heaven
until they charged some coin for
a bottle of your spirit

white silver bullets
barrage the trees and buildings
in chaotic sound
despite our defense constructs
everything falls to the ground

long streets make tired feet
her words formed intersections
as if roads could rhyme
from the last dead end, i hope
to walk with her one more time

their timelines brag "lives"
but a grin I learn to keep
in patterns I don't forget
today is a lot better
than when I tried my own end

if a song's honest
words would be stripped to the tones
just pain and desire