#palms
If you only know how to hold me at night,
If we cannot afford the morning light,
Then release me at the dawn.
You were never mine to hold,
I was never yours to mold,
We just rented the hours,
Borrowed the rooms.
As the waves crash against the shore,
Erasing our footprints before sunrise,
Open your palms,
Let me be the bird,
That leaves before the window closes.
Oct 2, 2025
Oct 2, 2025 at 11:08 PM UTC
What does a kiss on a soft cheek cost?
A heart?
Laid in her palms
Is that the price?
Or a soul
Should it be
At her feet
Sacrificed?
Or maybe the time that is left
The last breath
The final sigh
In return
For a moment,
For lips to touch?
Tell me
What more should someone offer?
What more will she ask?
For the right
To rest
Two weary pilgrims
My longing lips
on the sacred land
of her cheek?
Apr 21, 2025
Apr 21, 2025 at 10:47 AM UTC
& as you shade me with relief from scorching rays I bask in your benevolence,
For you are a creation of infinite cycles,
A manifestation of life itself,
An essence of soul's past,
A recollection of karmic accounts,
My friendly companion.
Jan 7, 2023
Jan 7, 2023 at 4:06 PM UTC
Aged, wrinkled and worn
Our Palms of fortune and destiny
Show tracks leading to new places
Playing out the timeline of our lives
Like a show - a Chorus Line
The queues will flock for the matinee
And so this poetical line ends.
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 5:10 PM UTC
Candles are how we keep fires as pets.
we scoop the pyre into our palms
and dump it into pots
and expect it to stay lit on its own.
Dec 4, 2020
Dec 4, 2020 at 9:23 PM UTC
a cradle of completion;
my rubik's cube slowly becomes
faded of colors, frayed of stickers,
as a twisting time renders it
subtle and scrambled, but
unendingly unsolvable
—my meaning left
muddled on the palms of life
muddled on the palms of life
—my meaning left
unendingly unsolvable,
subtle and scrambled, but
as a twisting time renders it
faded of colors, frayed of stickers,
my rubik's cube slowly becomes
a cradle of completion;
Aug 3, 2020
Aug 3, 2020 at 11:47 AM UTC
a ritual
warrants retribution
to hale
to connive
this practice
midst a
dire sequence
reserved for
her to
comprehend misgiving
with era
of hot
democracy through
she is
this strawberry
daiquiri but
amid rattan.
Jul 15, 2020
Jul 15, 2020 at 9:36 AM UTC
I want to reach new heights,
fly like there's no tomorrow,
I want to scoop the world in my palms
and protect it from deadly folks and deep hollows.
It's my dream,
a simple desire,
am I asking for too much?
or am I just being naive?
It pains me to see everything crumble away,
pains me to see that we're living at the end of the days,
it pains me to just stare at the stars,
and wish to vanish as far
as my soul can escape.
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 9:47 PM UTC
Clear blue skies;
under the coconut trees
I’m taking a selfie.
Jun 18, 2019
Jun 18, 2019 at 12:46 PM UTC
I work
One sock at a time
With elbows glued together behind
My back.
I work with
A pencil in each finger
Intertwined, mingling,
Whispering something about me and
The sweaty palms.
I work keeping
My shoelaces untied so
I may trip over them
And fall to the ground so that,
I may,
Perhaps
By some miracle of God
Or a stay in the hospital,
Find a way to
Keep my toes
Warm; work without trouble.
Apr 23, 2019
Apr 23, 2019 at 6:44 PM UTC
My neck feels so anxious
The last time it had laid on a pillow
It felt an utter discomfort
Where on the bed should my hair be placed
For each strand has grown so tall with such a pace
My callus is so pale
Frozen are my palms
Lips fall dead dry ,no, I don't apply any flavoured balm
Eyes behold an anchor upon
I curl up under the sheets
But by the morning I'm fresh and flushed.
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 4:03 PM UTC
Find me
Cold in a corner
Scribbling over my tears
Exposed toes and clammy hands
Scribbling my inner demands
Find me
Lost in my own home
Head towards the ground
Making a cowering sound
Find me
Holding my head between my palms
Two elbows on the countertop
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 8:04 PM UTC
Water is used to generate electricity
On my palms, it powers nervousness
Or nervousness stimulates the gushing of water from my palms
Better still, I will say it's a bi-directional mechanism
My drawing class was a mess
Every paper ripped before I could draw a thing
You can't imagine the stress
When your palm is another stream
I dread a handshake
Especially when my hand feels like a lake
I can't stand the expressions on people's faces
Or how they have to quickly clean their hands on their pants
Please find me an escape route
That's the struggle of sweaty palms!
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 10:07 PM UTC
I sat beneath the old saffron
willow, crumbling leaves
to dust in my soft palms.
Autumn creeped in once again,
setting the trees on fire and carrying
their leaves away with the cool wind.
I looked across the dirt road, at the
old, blackened house, bathed in sunlight.
The peeling paint leapt out like specks of glitter into the wind.
Years of memories were still trapped within its walls.
More than the leaves caught fire.
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
The day will come when we realize
we are worth so much more than what we think, and
the colors from this summer will bleed over
into the next, and my hands will remain warm, and the songs that we play
are tapping out new beats to tug
our heartstrings along to, and the sunrise
will look so much softer standing
in front of you.
I will forget to hold my breath and forget the metal plates around my heart
for the first time in a while,
The day will come that I stop
running, that I take these fragments and look
you in the eye while I attempt to put them back together.
I don't think we realize the weight
of what we're doing yet, the maps
we've laid out are so heavy on the scales of
fate and plans and I'm learning that it's likely
I'll end up somewhere warm without taking
all the precautions that I once thought
so necessary. Everything
in this world runs its course in stages, and you
you were simply the one that came after
the things that tried to break me, you started out as just
another page in my book but I'm hoping
that the ink never dries, i didn't know
I'd been living in corners or
painting myself in dull tones until you showed me the dreams that lay
behind your eyelids and up under
your skin. You are soft and warm
underneath, and I like
how the world rests on your tongue like you could make it
anything you want it to be, and as for me
I'd like to see the new light you
might paint me in and how
this next chapter might turn out sculpted within
the palms of your hands.
run your course through me,
I would love to be
the marks on your skin or
the colors behind your eyes- I would love
to be remembered by you.
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 3:31 PM UTC
Can I write you a poem
I will place it in my palms
so when I say GOODBYE
you will see what I meant by HELLO.
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
Woven on sheets between palms
were the wishes of deaf ears.
We may ask for many things,
but only we are the bearers
of our own aspirations.
Never do we ask for that which isn't right.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 5:57 AM UTC
Two palms
In it- what's in it!?
Touch on touch-
Five on five.
-
A wall in-between
Touching not them
But concrete dust and heat.
-
Why was this built?
Why this to exist?
One cannot break with lonely two fists.
-
I only have two, just two.
And I miss.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 5:59 PM UTC
He drank water out of my palms
And in return
Drowned me in his
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 1:51 PM UTC
What was warranted couldn't be more out of
lingering fingers reach, but vainly was the goal
still paused upon. Teased with the view of what
each had wanted but denied.
But stagnant were there en-devours for but a centimetre,
a vastness that could not be gauged by touch,
yet palms were placed untouched by the other.
An innuendo of what could be but never attained.
Their love was undeniable but there reality was a
vacant space in their hearts. They sat back to back
against this immovable obstacle, mourning the
need to be within the grasp of another.
No tears were ever shown to the other in solace,
they fell like monsoons on the bare floor.
All emotions were departed from the clouds of white
that blinked upon, time then stopped.
They never gave up on the motions that stirred within
and even thought time is finite and what was unforgiving
in their needing was no longer. But time is no friend of
love, and bones were all that was evidence of what once was.
Gazing with empty sockets eternally gazing onto the other,
but where that which had kept them apart had now parted.
Hands of white now clasped within each others touching,
for an eternity for an eternity.
Where in the echoes of the past which could not be obtained
were now holding on in death. Vacant puddles stare into
each other and where there was two singular now they are
silently holding onto each others memory.
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 4:21 PM UTC
The moon behind palm
Smiles, now,
Like the first time I’d met my
Second wife;
My second life,
My second shot at something,
And in seconds, like lightning,
Lost to dawn.
Ushered came the day that’d drag
When – The sun could burn,
The sun would burn;
The thirst, always there to remind.
So I’d wait on the lawn,
Under that same palm,
Smile; later,
To wed come dimpled stars.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 10:46 PM UTC