I promise you; I'm not depressed…
I'm more or less a mess – I guess.
At times, in my own mind, I feel like a guest;
Yet, at the helm – life puts me in charge,
Even as my social battery is often drained
I promise you; I'm not depressed…

I promise you; I'm not depressed…
These days, I don’t live anywhere close to
Lengthy dialogues, preferring to take social visits –
As each facet of my personality are merely masks,
Of this face's visages, as it constantly pivots
I promise you; I'm not depressed…

I promise you; I'm not depressed…
I don't trust most of my feelings – as
superior as they may seem, they fit the
narrative of playing the supervillain
Yearning to rekindle the wonder of my kid
self, though I often find myself kidding
I promise you; I'm not depressed…

It’s never good to admit that you’re depressed,
so, in a hidden depressive state – we don
the mask of joy, to fake its smile instead.

This sad poem was conceived and written in Burnley,
Where shadows linger, and the rain falls sternly.

An empty pub with an empty pint glass,
Black nights last long with its wild, bright eyes.

A one-eyed dog with lots of fleas
Sings the blues in seven different keys.

And time has flown since we met at sea,
A four-light-years-galactic-guilt is upon me.

Life's about the suffering
Peace a destination
What is more important
Is what happens duration

Impossible to self-pardon sins
Plagued with doubt and fear
What if darkness creeping within
Sronger than the light inhabiting here?

Worrying is not worth the toll
I have to pay my dues
No one can walk path for me
Don't wear the same size shoes

Each break and bruise instruction
Finish line forever unknown
Happy endings fantasy
Majority synthetic like silicon

It has to shift before we surrender
To assimilation of society
In-between consciouslessness
And controlled compliancy

After Point A wandered astray
Point B hopeless cause
Meandering sheep in a deluded daze
Progression practically on pause

Creativity and cerebration rare
Killed in each as a child
Brainwashed being obedient
Different labeled 'wild'

Those in power yearn to program every step
Shaping image to fit their mold
Corrupt agenda is nothing new
Most don't realize they are trapped in their hold

I want to lead uprising
But I simply am too afraid
Remember when surroundings were calmer
Present for past I desperately long to trade

We had plenty of time to correct behavior
There is an existing disconnect
From planet earth and each other
Too immersed in screens for paths to intersect

A thousand unanswered questions
In silence reality is revealed
Up to us to find purpose in this dimension
Stumbling blindly through this battlefield

We are closer to cliff than we realize
Inching towards edge each day passing by
Shadows halting vision with uncertainty
Wings clipped so we are unable to fly

I feel
an angel’s touch, so soft, so near,
a mountain crumbles,
its roar I hear.

I see
the shadows carved by lightning’s glow,
the light of a seed
in the earth below.

I hear
the silence stretched across the years,
curses rising from the graves
through tears.

I believe
in the stain of a demon’s dark embrace,
in the power of words
to claim their space.

I know
who will bear the weight my cross demands,
why the world bleeds
through trembling hands.

I feel
the steps that lead me closer to my breath’s last bend,
the touch of an angel
before the end.

*

I Feel
(Alternative translation I)

I feel
an angel's touch upon my skin
I feel once more
a mountain crashing, tumbling in

I see
the shadows lightning leaves behind
I see anew
the light within a seed confined

I hear
the silences an age has kept
I hear again
the curses rising from the crypt

I trust
the foulness that a demon breeds
I trust still more
the power that resides in deeds

I know
who'll bear the cross that's meant for me
I know as well
why bleeds the heart of all we see

I feel
how many steps till death I tread
I feel once more
an angel's touch upon my head

I woke up to my neighbors belting out an off-key tune. I tried to cover my aching ears with my pillow, but their discordant voices echoed in my head, so I finally got out of bed.

I stared at the unfinished painting I had worked on the night before. In just a few seconds, my stomach dropped. Even in its incomplete state, there was a sense of impending doom looming outside my door—hideous, and that was my first thought this morning.

Shadows ran through the waves of my curls—spiraling endlessly—as my fingers gently brushed away the exhaustion from last night. For the second time, I turned to look at the unfinished painting restlessly sitting at the end of my bed. If it had eyes, it would definitely not meet my somber, dark brown gaze. It would fear me, for I would cut it into pieces. I would let it bleed until it was no longer breathing.

It would forever be cherished as a beast—unfinished, freshly cut like a lemon. When poured into a deep wound, its acidity would seize the skin, leaving nothing but unfortunate agony.

I drank two liters of fresh lemonade, but nothing happened. It didn’t cut me into pieces. I was still unfinished.

And so I avoided its beastly eyes. Even an unfinished canvas resented my sorrowful presence. I sliced another lemon and added a teaspoon of sugar, hoping today would be different.

No evil shall enter in sacred space
Powers move, one thread in chase

Hands of creation, electric flow
Held captivated with eternal glow

Luminescent band, another dimension

Binding words weave within
Secrets of past woven in pen

In the shadows, in the light,
Forever hidden in plain sight


RepeatedNap