The virus news carries me from room to room.
A Verdi aria breaks the solemn
chant of the rising death tolls in my brain
as Italians sing to the sick below,
voice to voice forming a single line of hope,
that filters down to the lonely windows,
my electric screen, all the world’s tablets.  
The music spreads over the mournful lulls,
penetrates through the hemagglutinin,
nucleoproteins singed by joyous noise.
The alarms of Corollas join the chorus,
even the rain ululates with applause.
The gift of every note dotes on the glass.
The ventilated sick duet with their eyes,
pale hands conducting the voices above.
The voices background the daily briefing,
the drone of Trump, and the doctors after him.
I switch to another song, more mellow-
Sitting on the Dock of the Bay, something
in the same tempo, in unison, that allows
my small cautious soul to match their big notes.

Do you know
What happens
When two stars
Collide?
They either
Turn into
A gargantuan
Mother star
Or a black hole
******* the life and light
Out of all that dares
To exist.

Do you know
What happens
When two people collide?
They either
Turn into a wonderful
Sun that gives life
To all that dares
To exist
Or it flushes
Away the light
Of both people
And reduces both
To heartbreak.

A deaf republic can’t afford
to sit on its hands,

killing its sign language
in willful silence,

letting memory erase
the fear and the truth.

The disease existed.  
The shrouds too.

Concrete does not
pave over the blood.

A stroll in the park
does not tamp the pain.

The Punch and Judy show
is but the pantomime
for the forgetful.

The only sound heard
is the singing of
marionette strings

culled from a pile
of burnt violins.

When the air turns
khaki and violent,
the crowd disperses,

their hands in their pockets
signing and forming words.

In a silent closet at home,
the last parents teach
their children to sign.

The children sign
to the doors, windows,
the grass, the trees, the sky

anything with
the shapes of ears
before ears were banned.

For every happy spiritual moment that we ever celebrate...
there's thankfullness and its always so great...

For every miracle that a devotee keeps on telling...
I open my heart and listen to him saying...

" There's always someone by your side...
just keep your eyes far and wide...

He is the creater of this world whom we worship...
Always showing the right way for a sailor in a lost ship...

So great and so sweet is his name...
Who has got all wealth and fame...

Everyone call him Makhan Chor...
He is none other than Lord Krishna...
who wants us to know about him more and more !! "

May my heart stay humble,
May it never crumble.
May it always be sincere,
May my heart stay here.

MARCH 7th 2020

It will never be the way
It Was
            Here, at Childhood’s End...

It Is the way
It Is /
        Only You whom you must depend. Def end.
It’s
      Only youth’s blind-happy Zen
It shall

Never end the way
You Are.  
                                    FiN.

hey, everything will be alright.
don’t need to smoke secretly anymore
no need to cry in the bathtub,
and try to drown yourself everytime.
you will be happier, believe me.
noone will look at you differently,
they accept you now,
no need to cry after school anymore.
little one, no need to cut your hair off
believing that it will bring you luck.
you don’t need those sleeping meds
soon enough your insomnia will flee.
no more vomiting after every meal,
you will accept your body eitherway,
and you will love it more each day.
be strong, past me.
your depression won’t go away, im sorry.
there are no more summer rains
that you could dance in.
i still like sky ferreira, i swear.
you will bring peace to yourself,
with your big heart and tough soul.
no need to bleed for every little mistakes.
i promise you, right now, i am better.
little one, look at me.
you only have future you as a role model.
for you, i changed
please, no more sadness, no more blood
i swear, it gets better.