Faith is for the transience to have,
To hold on to their, morale, their pride or their belief of justice,
While the sun already bid farwell to her warmth in this freezing autumn, the transience of their faith keeps them warm, ah phantoms,
And so time passes, beliefs change the path is redirected
The wind crosses over it, and alike a miracle revives those memories,
Of those who have already left and disappeared without a trace,
And of the ones who shaped anothers heart, with speech, with a gentle gesture or just kindness, shown to every and all kinds,
As I, who was too pure to understand the meaning of this wretched world together with its temporare selfdestructive problems achieved immortality, I began to understand that transience is beautiful!
Because transience meant living, did it mean that I was no more ?
This I cannot answer, however it is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are, just do not get lost in the stream of time,
The smallest change can make the difference,
As for every kind is one kindness,
This, is a last remote.

~ Umi

What thoughts I have of you tonight, October,
for I’ve never walked alone the way I ought.
A double-decade drained. Divisive and over,
comprised of people collected,
and characters stolen.

This I know though, what it seems,
More than the changing of my lot,
For this world I can’t imagine,
Has borne far less than what I sought.

Now I stand to face the breeze,                        a chilling wind, a scattershot,
See these leaves in perfect juncture, with their wilting and their rot.
For it’s innocence I’ve lost and it’s innocence I’ll bear
When this age creates misgivings and I can’t help but feel distraught.

Cheeks of flesh turn to cold and replicate these ones
the chips and the dents that summon the reason,
I take this, accept it, a tall child in season,
Twenteen, more than once.

Bidding farewell to the warmth,
The bells of a spring path ring, to the sound of the wind,
Which has once again, crossed the stream of time, as it usually does,
The transience of the day, already lost due time, the sun remains as a traveler, whom appears to have crossed the Zenith again,
It's scorching heat is to be felt, exposed to it almost as if it was to be to set the skin ablaze, truly these sunrays, are unforgiving at this time,
Sorrow and misery, are to burn into ash by this heat, a purifying flame of affectionate happiness, embracing those who have found themselves to be in love with the natural, decending, light,
Beyond the boundaries, the mystery of our living power remains unknown, all what is left is a spark in the dark, beyond the sunshine,
The evening welcoming this world is soon to be radiating in joyful light, wandering aimlessly the time for the sunset draws near,
Beyond the Zenith, lies the transience of the passing time.


~ Umi

often i ask of my cigarettes that
they last forever. they always answer
in ashes, smoke the moonlight slow dancer
arching out of its own transient act

as if parting came easy to creatures
that dream of eternity, and wake up
again craving its adumbration, butts
spilling out of the tray, pale these seekers

their beauty not betrayed by their briefness
but by the dream, for some things are only
enjoyed by virtue of their vanishing.

it will free if it makes time for stillness.
be patient with what is strange—there, the opening.
breathe, and know nothing but fascination.

By the earth and it's wonderful, wide and unique expanse
A mother to what is living on it and inside of it, may it be small
or great in their posture given to them.
Indeed this place inhabits many creatures, faces and races.
Each striving for their own path, of staying alive.
The soft soil of the Earth, a comfortable living and breathing
ground to walk on, proud and all connected, only to be divided
By the sea which covers most of this planet, comparable to a blanket
From which we gain food and drink, in a clear registered cycle.
Of course this place too holds it's dangers, such as a quake could
end it all in a brutal roughless manner and tear it from the ground
we build our houses on.
Or be it an eruption which casts a rain of ash and embers, suffocating
the sky above, the ceiling which was meant to protect is our very end.
A mighty wave, which sweeps over the cities, drowning them in
it's lethal, cold and brutal, moist and salty embrace.
It is not healthy to be in such a negative spectra of thinking however
For this place holds, more transient, living, artistic beauty than I
could simply express or convey in words.

~ Umi

Awkward silence
Vanitas still-life
Remembering I must die
Thinking about afterlife

Still-life painting
Symbols of death or transience
The same old story
Unique true glory

Attention to one more fact
I know I'm into this
I'm a part of everything
Even without feeling it

Memento mori
Painted bended blind
A friendly reminder
Coming across my mind

The brevity of human life
A proper masterpiece
No one can escape
Let it rest in Peace

A girl dressed in a diaphanous gown,

spun  from the ethereal combination of

dollops of moon shine and star light of the past,

visited me in secret, spent together one long night.

We had memorized each other's heady scent

smeared all over us in an earlier journey together.

like two trained sniffer dogs on a robber's trail.

We were overwhelmed by the wish fulfillment

seemed like we are in a life within a dream.


No way we won't meet as the hearts beat so close

and I was having visions of her all the time day and night.

On those encounters I wrote two poems with my blood.

As I was addicted to the  recounting of those moments,

I wanted to smelt it  in my imagination's golden crucible

thought that would make the alliance immortal

but forgot the fact that human follies never end!


"You are lucky,a rare flower she is" they'd tell me

and make  me feel elated calling me a poet,

on account of just two poems for which,all  I was worth.

Should I have known it's a dream,that takes a lot to go on.

On her strong wings she flew back to green hills above.

If I weren't a love fool, I'd have seen it coming from a distance.

after abandonment and the long night after,sun still reigns.


They still call me  poet, I am hesitant to respond to it,

a melancholy poet of grief's wonder land, in non stop dance

with the experiences that illuminate transient existence?

Still do not know what to make of this two poem life!

Alone at a bus stop one night I stood,
And thoughts of my life soon turned to despair,
At all I had done, and all I still could,
I lit up a jack to lessen my care,

No sooner had I exhaled the first puff,
Than stood there a vision, a man entire,
He spoke in a voice both smokey and gruff,
And bade me to name my heart's true desire,

"Tell me young man, what do you wish for?"
"Release I wish from the boredom of life,
I want to be free of the struggle for more,
I'm restless in peace, but seek it in strife,"

I started to say, then paused for a drag,
Spilling the smoke I went on with a breath,
"These days at my job make me want to gag,
If that's all there is then I wish for death."

A moment of silence shared in the night,
The dark form beside me once again spake,
"I can't grant what you ask, try though I might,
But one day your life I will surely take."

The figure departed, gone in a flash,
Vanished in flesh though still his voice lingers,
Alone at a bus stop, clutching at ash,
I stood in the dark with burning fingers.