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When the summer heat spreads
across the lush greenery,
and marigolds, rudbeckia, and sunflowers
stretch out in the bright sunshine,
I sit in a cool room
and I ask myself why
the loved body,
in which the link
between free will and muscles
has broken,
feels so heavy, so shapeless.

Why does water, given through a syringe,
become the holy grail of hydration —
to quench the flame that’s fading out?
Water and flame —
The paradox of creation.
How much quiet dignity there is in this.

Summer is already leaving,
looking in through the window,
saying softly it’s sorry
that things turned out this way.
It says farewell,
believing that next year
I might be at peace with myself.

I put on an orange blouse
to keep unwanted thoughts at bay.
I hold warmth in my hand.
I whisper:
don’t go yet!
I don’t want to fall apart.
Though I know
the voice is calling him
on a one-way journey.

I look through the window.
I look at the body.
I look at the helplessness
that’s sat down next to me.
I can’t do much.
I can’t do anything.
I cut through the silence.
I closed what was hurting me.

The world breathes quietly.
And we listen —
to Beatles songs:
let it be,
yeah, let it be,
let it be.
"Dear God, make me a bird, so I can fly far, far away from here..."

A crushing mouth
Two hands of hate
A sacred bond
Turned twisted fate

Oh Lord oh Lord
Where art thou?
A desperate cry
Met with no sound

Please help me
To understand
Thy mysterious ways
Brought by thy self-righteous hand

You take no stand
As innocence is perversed
All knowing AND all loving?
A one sided prayer, the victims curse

"Dear God, make me a bird, so I can fly far, far away from here..."

©2025
Light cascades upon
Reflections of warmth, lillies
In colours of mist
Rain falls softly on the purple flower as it swings to and fro
in a field where everything blooms according to nature's will
Steadfast and strong the morning sun rises in the East  
upon a lush carpet of grass soft as the ancient winds of time

Light piano keys caress my mind as I close my eyes and enter
into a reverie as bright as the orange tulips that seize me
Ferns and chanterelles bathed in beams of pure light  
I am part of and whole of, this amazing greenish forest ...

Rivulets of quiet waters glide through the sun kissed earth
aerial slides from eagles and other winglet creatures of sky
Loyal and faithful mother earth is constant with her affection
in this solitary paradise made of homosapiens of every kind

Stunned into silence I inhale the chirp of the dancing bird
exhaling into the pinery the offspring of my very soul
I cup my  hands and drink from the river, a thirsty fish
longing to finish the journey I begun, ...centuries ago.
be ever gentle to thy words
treat them, your tools, well,
cleansing and protecting,
wrapping them in cloths of chamois and moleskin
that they may be well conditioned and
pour forth with a temperament clear and viscous,
reflecting their high honors and a noble lineage,
they are well-intentioned to exist far longer
than your meager temporal life,
upon this ever hasty, ever perpetual, orbit

give them all respect, their fair due,
they are treasure immeasurable,
for which you have been granted guardianship,
custody received from others to be gifted onwards,
yours, but for the duration

so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction

more truffle than trifle,
find them in the dark forest of your life,
use them sparingly, just for soaring,
take them from the roots of your trees,
shave them with a paring knife,
counts them in bites and measure them in grams,
even in grains,
for words are the seasoning of our lives,
agent provacateurs that can modify the moment,
bringing out to the fore
the flavor of the underlying

speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor them at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them
Oct. 6, 2015
4:30am
Manhattan Island
This morning we jogged early
I was back in my flat by six-thirty
From my tenth floor view of the Charles River basin,
The morning was incandescently flushed by the peach-colored sun.
The transparent clouds seemed stylistically stained, artfully workshopped, which offered a softened, Tiffany glass effect wholly worthy of worship.

I can’t stop to admire it. I’m jamming things into suitcases.
Cramming things into boxes, giving things away.

I had a second interview Monday afternoon, for Johns Hopkins med school. They put the question to me:
“The semester starts in 18 days - can you do that?”
“Yes,” I replied, and just like that, I'm a Blue Jay.
Of course, I had to withdraw from the masters program but Harvard gave me a full (95K) refund - I think they’re more excited about my med school admission than I am.

I’m not afraid of discordant notes.
They change the landscape.
Take us to new emotional places.
Any major work is going to have them.
.
.
A song for this:
Hang on Little Tomato by Pink Martini
It's Amazing by Jem
Carrying my truth.
I stand by my views,
watching through
my weakening gaze.

After a raging storm,
making peace with myself,
I vanish into the air,
my convictions fold with me.

Without simple answers,
wearing the new lens,
I see another world:
not clearer,
not wiser,
not safer,

just slightly shifted.
I dreamt this dream before I could speak it out loud,
Between the signifier and imperfect signified,
With all kinds of broken hours and promises never kept,
I tried transforming what was often said in the past.

This place would seem so real,
Made for me, trembling in the middle,
With small and growing earthquakes.
I wrote myself again—my little truths.

Looking for missing lines without wings,
Carrying stones inside my mind,
In tight, frayed bags from my beating heart,
without hope for a final insight.

Perhaps I just passed through the steam
Of a swirling, repetitive, chaotic dance,
Seeking tickets, carving an elusive imprint
With my mosaic in this human code.

Five minutes quietly slipped by.
My earned time vanished.
I had my moments going along the roadsides,
Avoiding the end of this poetic journey.

I stay wrapped in a heavy coat of suspicion.
I saw Moirés crafting another delusion.
I found a small reward in an addictive cliché,
To feel short relief from what I call my reality.

I remember what I did before,
Choosing every day not to cast a stone
Into the center of what I can’t grasp
With my breathing, human existence.
And this breath was enough.
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