Silence,
a slow death  by the breakdown of the heart
where as one suffers in that middle ground
between love and lust
not knowing their value because it is left
to be determined by someone else

Silence,
when that value is determined
and a man has shown that he is really
a boy who lost the ability to love
and found solace in ***

Silence,
not a word comes from the poor soul
who was left in the rain waiting for her
prince to pick her up and carry her someplace
other than the bedroom for once

Silence,
from the boy and his family when the
news reporter stood behind the screen,
in front of the house of the girl who
had given more than she had to give

Silence,
except for the tears of her brothers
and her family who are now without
a teenager with a bad temper and bad
habits though they loved her anyway

Silence,
the boy has not spoken a word
in months because every thought he
has is chewed up and swallowed by
the unbearable guilt of hurting her

Silence,
not even the wind kissed my ears
when I stood on top of her grave looking
down at the name of the girl who for
so long had been broken and bruised

If I were to see you,
I don't think I could say a word
For I'd be much to captivated
And every phrase would be misheard

If I were to touch you,
I think I just may faint
For your skin is a canvas
That my fingers yearn to paint

If I were to kiss you,
My lips would catch on fire
For my body and my heart are scared
Of the love that may transpire

If I were to lose you,
I would simply fall apart
For you know the truest me
Darling, you've stolen my whole heart.

A wonderfully wise and awakened man once said,
"**** myself or love myself, which is the treason?"
and that is a question that roams and moans in my mind
i have an army of searchers inside my skull
scouring for the answer, looking for a sliver
of sense to provide clarity through my abundance of clouds
and this man was an honest poet and a belligerent drunk
though he is famous in his life and even after his death
but if I were to die five minutes ago, where are the tears?
who would be holding their knees to their chest in fear
of their skin running away and their bones shattering in pain
Would there be at least one soul to moan into the night
when they think that no one is listening to their begging
and pleading to the stars to send me back into their arms?
If I were to die an hour ago, would there be a news broadcast
in the honor of a teenage girl who did too many drugs and
wrote words with a unique penmanship that mixed print
and cursive in a construct of phrases that made little sense
to anyone that didn't also have their own army inside their skulls?
So, I pose this question to myself every day in the bathroom mirror:
"**** myself or love myself, which is the treason?" and I hope,
if i prove to be wrong and an afterlife carries our souls upon the arrival
of a hearse to our homes and a tear to our parents' eyes that the wise
and wonderfully awakened man had found his answer,
but did not understand it. For I am crippled by the fear of not knowing,
though also by the thought of being content and no longer looking
deeper than the valence shell of my own twisted and sad mind.

I still smell her hair
coconut, it smelled like coconut
and her little earrings tinkled
when she laughed too hard
and she sang
like it was the last song she'd ever sing
and she ran
like she would leave the world behind
but now I'm alone
with only her memories
to provide me company

they said we couldn't be one
because she joined her palms while praying
and I didn't
because she sang praises of Krishna and Shiva
and I didn't
because I was to read the Quran
and she didn't
because her god and my god
were just not the same.

I wonder if all these gods,
and all these messengers
had an agreement
that one god's people
were not supposed to mingle
with the other's
and one who defied this law
would have only one fate.

if it is so,
then I shun all gods
because I'd rather be defined
by who I am
than by who I bow down to.

-a.g.

She never finished the deed
for cowardice drowned her instead
She never got better, though,
living with voices in her head
She never told anyone
and that she soon came to regret
She never told her mother
that her daughter would soon be dead

Trees blow in the wind
Leaves jump into the unknown
Power provokes flight