Am I a spider without web?
In its silky warmth it abides
Am I a wolf without fangs?
From which a hapless prey hides
Am I a lion without its mane?
Upon which the kingdom rests
Am I a snake without its hiss?
From its music springs death
Am I a foolish mouse?
Without its genius, it becomes fad
To the feline but with stealth
The slower ones are just fat
Alas, am I a human without a purpose?
Slowly thus his soul corrodes.

Rainy days
Cold musky pillows and rumpled linens
Steam from a brewing coffee, someone’s  
               making breakfast in the kitchen
Afternoons in the month of May
Sweat of a bemused lover
Endless summer rains.

He is spaghetti
A forkful through her fingers
Quick to eat in trains.
She's just hungry for pasta--
Come now, the Train's arriving!

O, times of walking down that one-way street!
Always to find your footsteps among the clatter
On dreamy sidewalks.
And how many times have I heard
Even your slightest whispers
Above hungry engines and thunders
Of some passing train? I wonder.
And when it rained, the earth suffused with your scent  
I found you plastered on the gray walls,
Etched on the thirsty asphalt roads
Mixed in the dust and smoke.

Like a river – that one-way street
(I once said to you, remember?)
And we are but wrecks on its wake.
I can’t help but feel that I am still
That piece of fallen branch
Hopelessly being carried by the torrent
Always getting back—
To you.

Even as I’ve reached now the calmer seas
And lie under a silver blanket of silence,
The City’s music still hums in my ears:
There is harmony in the noise, my dear
Listen: a delicious, ghostly harmony
Seething with your own caramel voice.

You give life to that City.
Alas, I am ever lost
In its enchanted alleys.

I had a dream that
Everything was drowned in tears
All sounds were silenced
And the rain fell with a thud—
Shards of broken memories.

A lone snail was caught
Amid the torrent of tears
Not for a moment
Did it let go of its freight
I let it carry my weight.

My world is fading
Melting in desolate tears
And I can't stop it.
Woes do come as raging floods
But who'll be there to save me?

I long to die
And have eternal respite
From these tormenting woes.
Yet I'm afraid that
Upon closing the eyes,
Will ensue regrets.

But if I live,
and force myself to breathe
     this air of lead,
I shall spend days and nights
Lying in bed.
For there is no soul
As tired as mine—prematurely worn
By the hands of Time.

Minds of every shape and size, unknowing
Had played an impossible game—vanquished
                                                                in the end,
And burned like that playful moth, flying,
Round and round the flame. And there was of course
Winged Icarus, falling from his sun—just the same.

Because there it is whence Love’s magic arises:
In the ashes of the most insane, not the wisest.

Monday is a lie
Like your parents fondly told
To make you behave
No less than the morning news
As real as the Boogeyman.

My heart almost stopped
While I was inside my head
I did not resist.

You know, it feels great!
How the dark suffocates me
Sadly, I awoke.

Scoop spoonfuls of joy
and let dark beads percolate
in a tiny cup.
sugar, milk, milk and sugar
clock doesn't stop--tick, gulp, tock.

Unwanted, it came out of the sky. Each drop falling straight for the earth. Feels heavy upon my shoulders, as if a giant presence filled the air: everywhere I go, leaning, clinging—hanging on my back, with its grips of quicksand. Time and again, it blinds, disarming me with its painful Flash, before its booming Roar, that the beating of my heart seems to shake my vision, and my bones to creak—all out of a stupid fear; creating an earthquake insensible to others, with its epicenter at the very core of my being; while my stomach growls in resonance, giving a severe indigestion, and a vertigo so persistent as to make someone ***** his own life. And though it came down with a chilling breath, sweat unceasingly springs from my body. For the truth is—I am truly nervous, that this rain is but one of the many storms to come.
And so, as the discordant melody of the city continues to lull the world
I, like an infant mewling at night, remain awake, cursed to ponder
never to be reconciled with peaceful Slumber.

I am sorry if I'm just a mediocre
for not being good enough
in everything
I am sorry if all I could do is whine
crying out like a swine
how imperfect the world can be
I am sorry if I'm not beautiful
if I'm not friendly
if I'm messy, stupid,
insolent, sensitive, and grumpy
I am sorry for being so quiet
that it makes the air awkward
for being a sickly *******
or when I sometimes talk a lot
as if I know everything
I'm sorry if I sometimes feel special
like a protagonist of some story
looking at everyone with scornful eyes
for being so disgustingly melodramatic
for always making excuses
for piling lies on top of lies, on top of lies
or for not even trying
to make these ****** words rhyme
I am sorry for being so hard to like
let alone, to love
and if I ever made you frown
of any of the above
or simply of my existence
know that I am deeply,
truly, and terribly sorry.

Would you know me, my Love
And wave your hands at me
Or curve your lips blissfully
If my name chooses to escape
Your memory?

Would you embrace, my Love
A body that has turned to dust
— An image of the past—
Nay, would you return my love
For as long as I last?

For it would mean everything
To have someone like you
Here and everywhere, a companion
Knowing that the sky is pale
So she fills it with hue.

Your hair is lava that springs from the earth
Your smile is the moon that glows ‘pon the hearth
And every vapor of your body reminds me of the sea
Teeming with life, electrifying!

O, how you walk with dalliance, perfect like a sunflower
                                                          that blooms every May
While your lips are cherries—of course ‘twould be sweet!
But if there’s one thing I most admire
Like music from a lire
It is your eyes
Which makes me want to cry.