The cold sense of a
Dreamy deja-vu;
I feel the shadows
Crowd around me
And I’m p
                  u
                     l
                       l
                        e
                          d
Into a familiar darkness.

I roam the dreamscape
In search of an exit.
Although I already know
What lies ahead,
I’m still distressed.

A constant reincarnation
Of the same faceless
Figure, waiting for me
At the end of
My dreaded ascension.

Chilled to my soul,
I face my indistinctive
Nightmare. The ghosts
Of the past seen so alive
From behind closed eyes.

Lucid dreams of a place
That seems unfamiliar,
But it feels like home.

I perform a barefoot ballet,
Sinking my toes like anchors
Into the soil.

Orchids and sunflowers
Stand guard like soldiers, giving
An aroma as strong as gun smoke.

The wind whistles its tune
As the leaves tango, resembling
Lovers brushing fingertips.

I reminisce days where
The garden was the universe
And words came easy.

Today I am speechless and
Amazed by all this vast
World has shown me.

I've cast a hundred
Smiles at strangers and
Loved ones and no
Smile back has ever meant
More to me than yours.

I've gazed into a dozen
Pairs of eyes, trying to
Spark my clairvoyance.
I'd yet to see the future
Until I dove into yours.

I've poured all my love
To only a few, and none
Have nourished my soul like you;
Like a fresh breath after April showers,
And I am in full bloom.

I wake in the belly of a poem.
Wading into watercolor
And a twisting labyrinth
Of Boston ivy.
I can't see through this fog
But it can see through me.
Words like pollen glide
On the wind and
Guide me like fireflies to
A sanctuary of wildflowers.
Here, everything speaks
To me, fluent in my native tongue.
Inhale, exhale, repeat until there's peace.
Bonsai at my feet as if
My toes are whispering to the roots:
"Grow, blossom, thrive",
And I will learn to
Take my own advice.

It was quite a show.
So here we are,
curtain call and all,
the collective clapping
of an audience
who are ready
to finally empty
this theatre of sorts,
loud enough for
us to hear from
the backstage corner.
The critics write
of our sharp dialogue—
genuine, they say,
and maudlin, too,
some others note.
A twofold act:
here we begin,
and there we
end, all our lines
rehearsed, and
all movement,
perfectly choreographed.
It was, really,
quite the show
everyone expects.
After this,
all this,
we’ll bid farewell
to the roles we play,
and be back
to being strangers
once more.