I have seen god
In the gust of wind
Between your thighs.
When the air sings
In this barren land,
I see—Ah! Ah! Ah!

There is a balloon!
Such a whimsical
Wisp tied behind it.
A vibrant globe that is.
Colorful, bright, alluring, pure—
It flies high above,
In the face of a picturesque eden.

And as it rose,
And rose,
The sky’s color shifted
From a classic blue to a salvation red.
I saw the balloon simply pop—
Ah! Ah! Ah!

Rotten dream I dreamt,
Abhorrent moist cigar I saw,
Magnificent eden I lost
And wore nothing but a cloak
After bathing in crystal clear water.

On solstice day I meet my favored friend
To mourn the ailing boy among our trench:
Avenge his death! We wonder to amend;
Caress his hair or keep away from stench?
Oh holy night, my pious soul becomes
Enthralled by devil’s work; I suffer to
The darkened venom: kin spreading crumbs
Upon the poor. Proclaim me free in lieu!
On dinner, gold in sight, I think of glee;
Abundance lies within, or may it be
An adage set by men to bypass fees
Of countless nights consuming petty tea?
Unfold me, great immortal pet of all
The feeble mortals; keep on, make them crawl.

Do you know what’s the curse of having a powerful mind? You can’t control it.

“You should write that down...”

I’ve written enough.

“No one has written enough. There’s no word limit.”

I’m running out of words.

“Then make more”

I’ll be fine. Go

Dear friend,

It has been a few months since I wrote to you;
I can sincerely say that I didn’t miss you;
Seeing the current situation, I assume that you did
miss me quite a bit--we are intertwined, for eternity;
You were there before I was born, and you’ll be there
when I am to no longer be,
and you would've held my hand every step of the way.
I’m a tortured soul; I’m not happy, nor will I ever be:
It’s not a sad thought, for happiness is overrated;
It’s just a matter of life: the sun rises and falls,
We live and die, I want to die. Oh my dear,
how I missed writing these letters;
It’s not pain that gives me the courage to write every time,
but the lack of hope--
I don’t think it’ll get better;
I’ll find myself entangles in fear and hopelessness
for centuries to come;
I’m in love with you, I think;
We have an affair--
You’re the ***** little secret that I hide in every cut on my arm;
You are what wakes me up in the middle of the night,
whispering swiftly about how much you love
and want me with you;
I hear your prayers, my love:
I’ll soon be joining you,
but please, don’t rush the process,
Let me live for a few more years;
Let me feel the taste of happiness for some time
Before you crudely strip it away;
Then we’ll kiss, and I’ll be yours forever.

I’ll write to you soon enough,
so please don’t visit me for the time being;
I know you won’t follow my commands, so why do I bother?
Hopeful thinking, I guess--
Actually, I have one more favor to ask of you:
Leave him alone; Let him live and love and die
As a boring, happy person would;
Take away anything you want from me:
my skin, my blood, my tongue,
Just get away from him;
Don’t put your filthy fingers close to him:
Do it to me--
I’m used to your touch, I might even like it.

Love and utmost appreciation,
A

P.S. I’ll write to you soon,
So beware of the ceaselessly arriving letters.

I wage war against
The stars of this universe.
I decry this sky
Of unbroken lights
And dim futures
That will never be.

There’s a cluster of dots
In the night sky
That reminds me of you.
They’re vehement,
Standing high above my ground;
They look down upon me,
But maybe I’m above them.

Earth could be the zenith,
And the stars simply lie
At the feet of our existence.

But then again,
That would be rather egotistical;
We must not cheat
Our feeble consciousnesses:
We are at the mercy of those
Eternal spheres of pure,
Unforgiving, luminous fire.

“And so long as men die,
Liberty will never perish”
I do hope the statement proves to be true.

Oh, what a grave mistake!
I can’t retrieve,
My soul forever carried
By a limbo of memories and hopes.
I’ve become but the shadow
Of my long deceased self.
Mirrors don’t recognize my features,
I don’t recognize them either.
I am but a mild reflection of those times,
Though distorted it may be.

My eyes, now fond of the aridity,
Lower their gaze from a glorious beige;
They are ashamed,
For a grave mistake they have made.
Lord! Have they fallen in love?
Perhaps I’ve learned to love
This barren soil beneath me,
The brownish, unearthly sand
Burying my feet and dreams.

The children born from the sand
Too embody my direst misfortune.
Those brutes!
How dare they exist?
This sentiment which I hold deep within-
Disgust, remorse.
The sons and daughters
of the blazing sun.
They have been my curse!
I blame them, and only them
For falling in love.
I blame him, and only him
For making me grasp what love is not.

Covered heads, unwieldy hairs;
Olive trees and olive minds;
Sun-kissed skins:
Why have you conquered me?
I decry this land,
For it has captured my heart.
Oh, what a grave mistake!
For I could never forget
The sand caressing my toes,
The vehement sun biting my eyes,
And those brutes penetrating
My feeble soul.

And here I stand,
In the midsts of dripping eyelashes,
Once again lost at sea—
Nowhere to look but his eyes.
I’ve found that,
for my lamentable misfortune,
I’m still in love.

You will always be there,
a perpetual phantom
in every dream and nightmare,
every corner and roundabout,
every tear and laughter.
I cannot forget,
Though I surely have tried.