When I feel trapped on the land,
I’m looking for anyone to lend a hand.
They’re just too scared of me,
knowing that I belong back in the sea.
I struggle, thrash and flop with all my might;
a shark on land doesn’t feel quite right,
and I can’t win this fight.

I’ve got no qualms with man,
but trapped on shore was not my plan.
Whatever will be will be,
but can’t someone roll me back into the sea?

They’ve seen great whites and nurse,
but whatever class I am I’ve got it worse.
I walk but they know I’d rather swim,
I happened upon shore on just a whim.
Drying out from my nose to tail,
can’t they see I’m not threat, I’ve gotten frail?
They’re so scared they’re turning pale.

I’ve got no qualms with man,
just wish one would stop me from getting a tan.
If I could speak I would plea,
“can’t someone roll me back into the sea?”

Barely moving, but still giving it my best,
I count the phones documenting my distress.
They look on caught almost in a trance,
mistaking my movement for some type of dance.
But they’re just too scared of me,
even though I’m struggling to breathe,
hear how I huff and heave?

I’ve got no qualms with man,
no issue with their ways or lifespan.
I wish they felt the same for me,
so can’t someone roll me back into the sea?

they mark their invisible boundaries by the coast
moist air fills the lungs leaving an aching throat
we say it is a part of our world
yet they should be on their own undisturbed
they grace us with their presence
filling the coast with blessings
{i Took
a smooth shell that sparks like dusk
buries within fine thin dust uncrushed
now living in a corner within the books}
though they are tarnished from their purest form
they wash into our world like dawn
mother with silken hands that’s warm
i Refuse
the world that burns cold
with a legacy building on others’ doom
for i am an alien that Cruises
all far and about with a primal desire
they may speak sweet and serene
but they can roar and conquer
bestowing swift death like a reaper
they hug
my feet that’s just inches away
soothing the beats that’s ruined and astray
legs moving till i can no longer reach the ground
i drown
within the other realm of purity
they embrace
the cuts the wounds from the other side
the world calls it death by water
but i call it a return to my origin.

In 1972, my Deda co-built a summit in Lovćen, Montenegro, the mountain that inspired Montenegro’s very name, meaning black mountain.
It was here, even before my father was born, that he injured his leg - and for long as I can remember, Deda walked with a charming limp.
There are many family stories I do not know: some locked away because they are painful, others I never thought to ask. And though Deda is no longer here, I am learning -
yes, there is still time
  to listen,
     to honor.

a Proustian quest for original wonder gets illuminated among pine, olive, palm trees
the eye needs delicacy and moderation to grasp the breeze of thoughts
is it the soul or an architect of joy who blends the harmonies in a pointilist smile on my face
an atmospheric fluidity in my hands between land, sea and light

-
Hear, the crumbling of the Earth
Here, the end of Venus' birth
As I lie in bare land with bare feet and swollen eyes
I found that my cries mean nothing in a rock where the air reigns in a voiceless bound
--My cries mean nothing in a rock where every part of my being is the Earth itself, resound

I.
Hear, the crumbling of the Earth
Rumble, tumble, crumple, stumble, crumble
I clung to my lungs as the minuscule particles start to dwindle
I reached for my nostrils and felt the spills of aeolian thrills
I opened my mouth and tasted the brittle sand from a forsaken land

II.
Here, the end of Venus' birth
My love, disintegrating, shattering in robust fragility
Fluvial murky patterns, ruining steps of vitality
Disintegrating, shattering in quiet intensity
Tides formulate the next city of Venus' death

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!­!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
At last, I lie in bare land with bare feet and sunken eyes
There will never be a winning fight against the inexorable decay of time
In the name of violent rage and anger --I gnashed my teeth
Until my jaws begin to fracture,
Teeth,
        falling a
                        p
                              a
                                    r
                                           t,
                                                there was never a fight to begin with...

Sometimes, I think about our future children
Who will grow up not knowing of the stars
Or of splashing in streams of childhood

But only
Black smog and masks
Filtering the poisons we have put
In our lungs

Will they find familiar
Dead animals, dead plants
A dead Earth?

I wonder
If they will be able to run in fields
Without glass between shrubs and on their feet?

Will they know a life?
Outside of the dystopia of our own making?

Meanwhile, here we sit
Living our lavish lifestyles
Not having a care about
Who dies in the process?

Do we not believe
The polar bear who drowned
From a lack of ice
Has a right to live as well?

Or the animals who starve
From humankind's greed
To eat lavish fish and exotic plants.

Do we not think twice
On pumping our plants
Full of toxins
That destroys every insect and ****
From the inside out
In our bodies?

Do we have no idea that eventually
Our land will hold heat so well
We may no longer dine
For everything is dead?

Or will we only care
When the melting ice
Has flooded our towns

Destroying brick homes
And picket fences with
Swingsets in the backyard.

Will it only matter
When we cannot grill meat
Produced from suffering

Or when there is no more profit to be made
From pumping our rivers with manmade monsters

Wonder about our future children
How will they grow
Living a life of disease and death.

But no, it will only matter
When us in the present start dying.

Even more, it will only be of importance
When it isn’t killing people across the world
But in our own homes.

It will not be significant
Until you lose a mother, a best friend
A lover, a child.

Sometimes I wonder about the children
And I apologize
For the life we have condemned them to.

The Black Knight of the Franks,
He feared no thing,
Except for the hand of God.

With his sword and cross,
He rode triumphant,
Through out the Holy Land.

But once he crossed a monk of opposing faith,
But spared his life,
So his story was erased from history.

Do not tread here,
Not on this land.
These grasses hide graves,
This dirt is a death-land.
If you must walk this desolate space,
Step carefully, travel light.
If you're not nimble,
This journey may be your last.
Adding another body,
To this grim grass.

Once on the Path again,
sunbound
even for just a heartbeat,
leaving it feels like losing a friend.

May we be
brave enough to see the signs,
wild enough to trust them
all the way back to our hearts.

May we be
light enough for spindrift
to twirl us up into the air
and may we, violently or gently, land
just where we’re meant to.