My love for you isn't just a feeling.
It's a civilization.
It's a group formed in unorganized noise.
A commotion of expression purposely existing
the sole purpose of you.
Living & breathing.
A jumbled language overheard.
Stenciled with each patter of foot.
Every horn honked.
Each lane clogged with the thought of you.
A foundation built from the ground up
in means to explore.
A stone age modernized.
Misinterpreted by the desire of fire.
Protected.
Built upon.
Built into the tallest building, which I call your name.
My love for you is like the plane that flies overhead.
Roaring loud in repetition.
Tedious nooks & crannies.
Places to shop, things to see.
All the things I see when I look into your eyes.
My love for you a province of sorts.
The smell seared in a pan. Best served on a plate for two.
A mix of different pastas, vegetables.
Fried in upbeat cafe, different aromas.
The chit chat different versions of me.
Complimenting the very essence of you.
A new building erected with cranes and steel beams.
Plastered dry wall.
Soon opened for your arrival

¿Por qué, por qué tiene que ser así? Esto no es correcto, no para mí.
No quiero que me digan que pruebe el “Café de Costa Rica”, los “Bombones de Colombia”, las “Arepas de Venezuela”, las “Carnes de Argentina", las “Pastas italianas”, los “Tacos mexicanos”, la “Tortilla española”, la “Comida china” o la “Pizza con el ingrediente especial de Italia”. No quiero que me digan “Esto está hecho en China” ni “¡Wao! Esto no está hecho en China, está hecho en Taiwan”. No quiero que me digan “Mira este documental de África”, “Que hermosa se ve esa foto de la Torre Eiffel” o “Que alto debe estar ese edificio de New York”. No quiero que me cuenten cómo les fue en su viaje a Europa, su jornada en California o sus problemas mientras estuvieron en Canada. No quiero que me relaten las historias aprendidas durante su tiempo en Egipto o los bailes ensayados mientras estaban en Brasil. No quiero que hablen de su críticas respecto a la cutura de India, de Guyana o de Cuba. No quiero que me describan lo exquisita que estuvo la comida en Perú, en Australia o en República Dominicana. No quiero que me muestren la música de Jamaica o la de Rusia. No quiero que me digan  o me enseñen nada, nada más. Quiero yo poder probar los alimentos en su nacionalidad. Quiero sentir el aroma del café en las mañanas durante unas vacaciones en Costa Rica y probar ese toque especial que hace que la pizza en Italia sea diferente a la que acostumbramos a ordenar. Quiero ver cómo hacen los artefactos, estar en China y luego en Taiwan, tener esa experiencia de crear algo. Quiero visitar África y tomar mi propio documental, treparme en ese gigante edificio y apreciar la hermosa vista. Quiero ser yo la que cuente mi experiencia en las calles de Europa, California o Canada. Quiero aprender historias sobre Egipto y sus magníficas esculturas, incluso quiero aprender a darzar como lo hacen en Brasil y cada movimiento perfeccionar. Quiero dar las críticas sobre mis pensamientos hacia dichas culturas, pero con respeto. Quiero describir los suculentos platos y hacer que las personas se los imaginen, de tal manera que hasta en sus paladares puedan sentirlos. Quiero  escuchar la música de Jamaica y la de Rusia y si es en vivo, aún mejor, así podré meditarla e interpretarla. Puede sonar un poco alocado y para muchos sin sentido, pero para mí es más que un simple pensamiento o cualquier capricho, son sueños y metas que a diario me propongo. Para ello hay que trabajar duro, pero desde mi niñez me enseñaron que “el que quiere puede, solo hay que perseverar para triunfar”. Sé que algún día lo voy a alcanzar y todos se sorprenderán, cuando con orgullo les relate sobre lo que un día fue “un simple  deseo internacional ”.

All the best again, dear Sis
You, I am gonna miss
All the time you were here
Never did I miss a gear
While driving the car of my life
Even were it never free of strife

Whether it be the tea you made
Or the pastas and noodles you cooked
Never will the memories fade
No matter how hard Satan tried
To put a spanner in our works
Very endearing, are your quirks

Your presence, did I almost take for granted
Because, no matter what
There was nothing you missed
Including meeting our neighbours and their cats!

You turned Despair Into Hope
Even if the devil in me
Tried its best to make me mope
You turned Hatred into Love
And never was there a problem
Which you could not solve
And finally, you turned Stress into Peace
With a remarkable ease

Always, was there a smile
On your beautiful face
Because you went the extra mile
To help us achieve inner peace

You, I am gonna miss badly
But all that matters
Is that you should be happy
And unless were I mad as a hatter
Always, will I love you
And always, shall our bond be thicker than glue
So, wish you all the very best
Sure am I, that you will face a stern test
However, equally am I sure
That, everything shall you endure
As ever, with a smile on your beautiful face
Irrespective of the place

globalisation does this, all in favour? aye! all in opposition? nay!

                                        multi-cultural societies
and their pastas and pizzas,
their curry take away, their Chinese noodles,
their Thai their Sushi, and the Turkish kebab -
it's a smouldering cauldron of simply
no identity, eat a raw herring and pack your
bags to Scandinavia -

                                      if i came with a strong
rooting in Slavic myths, the identity of the land,
the dwarf gods of the forest (bořki - ate the
z of what would have been a German equivalent
ß - but here, the erzett - or to put it otherwise
for aesthetic purposes: ż - no, no one is
illiterate, it's just that people haven't been told
that we write for aesthetic reasons, as well
as functioning / utility reasons -
i am an orthographic reformer - i want the greatest
upheaval in language) -
                                
                                Argentinian steak houses -

but otherwise eat a raw herring and pack
your bags... globalisation will not make any of
us proud of our ethnicity, or culture bound
to birth, there must be a way out -
social patriotism intact, after all a universal
thing to mind: the golden rule - never do unto
others what you wouldn't want others to do
unto you - but we need teeth, we need grip...

we need myths! as of the neighbours of the Baltic,
and England unique as having experienced
Cnut but not Vasa - nothing cliche about it -
the folk element is there, and i fit the bill
for the looks - that's the easy part -
but in heart some third language that makes me
feel, purely feel, and not understand -
that's neither Polish (too personal, goes to the bone
and is reflexive - insults against ethnicity) - nor English (too
personal, goes to the brain and is reflective -
insults against intelligence) -
                                        
                                             a third party associate,
one of pure heart, raw berserk emotion -
befitting a poem at every turn -
i need a language of mediating these two cripples -
i have no care for liver for kidney and now, apparently
even the brain... **** it... let's stick to the heart
and keep it the essence of all things soulful -

as soul known to chemists be: the one element of
man that's indestructible - for whatever reason,
the love bound to reach the highest of alchemy's
mysteries - the more verbiage necessary to stand firm
with a love for your enemies - the philosopher's stone
refers to the heart - as is the depiction by Luca Signorelli -
the genius element being the left hand ever
present through the robes -

                                                 how to give the left hemisphere
under siege a spy's stealthy hand in diabolical matters,
in perfect equilibrium with the right's natural strength
at holding quill or sabre, condensed into mutually inclusive
by a keyboard -

so unto the heart of Scandinavia, esp. that Faroe dullness
for the mind to fathom when the heart born from
such lands sees a heart entertained by the bleakness
and the Orca poaching season of reddened northern waves
in the marina, where the Orcas are grouped together
and slaughtered for food -

so as this goes on - a return to the most poignant critique
of mutli-cultural society - well, not really...
just this debilitating status quo mediation between
mr. anonymous and mr. famous -
fame isn't fame as it used to be known -
by fame i imagine Galileo - by fame i imagine Copernicus -
by fame i imagine Kant - as pretentious as name dropping
might seem, fame for me equates itself to sustenance -

nourishment - a welcome return of debate and the unresolved
plucking of those floreo interrogatio -
not what's now just the same as packaged goods -
toothbrushes are also famous, so are tables and chairs,
lightbulbs are pretty famous too...

celebrities that are nothing more than packaged books -
what exposed them? they all need books, autobiographies!
that's what exposed them... they did the opposite
of what the Nazis did in Munich that one time
with that one time bonfire... these books are already burning,
well my mind at least, if you touch them i'm sure
they're quiet cool.

                                better than fame, better than
posthumous "fame" - to live a life that will give rise
to a myth - to apply yourself, not to any specialisation
with a logic as its suffix - i.e. not ontology, not biology,
not psychology - like mathematics being the queen (królową)
of learning (nauk) - mythology is the king (król)
of unlearning and of awe (oduczać się) - which does

not entirely mean neglect - once you have learned to
learn to ride a bicycle, once you learn to swim -
these two are very much hard to completely neglect and
by neglecting forget - here then,

                                         while the rats scamper and scuttle
for the big cheese and perfectly flossed teeth -
a ceramic doll's face - i'm in the forests in the dark of
night - a forest heavily influenced by the perfumery
of wet autumn leaves fallen with their drained
green chlorophyll allowing space for the perfumery
when at night the earth breathes, in the colder months -
the earth looses and Ypres mud wets the shoe.

globalisation also shows the ugly side of monotheism,
Christianity, you can't possibly think is a serious
monotheism, can you? three in one, two for one,
buy two get the third one gratis, what with the pagan
elements of the Christmas tree, chocolate *****
of castrated hares to celebrate the crucifixion (crucifix
jewels on the necks) and Santa Claus that's merely
an an anagram of Satan's Clause, something to do
with the jurisprudence of: well, technically not vanquished,
left standing in Mecca counting how many
loafs of bread are under his feet from the Muslims
throwing pebbles at him.

He walks with pavarotti in his vains and calls his daughter rock and roll.
His charm is the face of the restaurant.

In the kitchen two man are sweating above pastas and antipasti to feed their children tajine at home.

On the terrace there are girls trying not to drop any glasses because of the guy on table 204.

There's a guy behind the bar that was bad in his country, and now feels what is normal.

They speak of the boss as if he's always watching, though he's rarely ever there.

There are 10 different nationalities in there but when the chorus of a certain song plays they all sing that one word.

*Bellisimo.

Today was not a bust or a wash, but instead a push.
A day where nothing was lost, but nothing was gained.

I accomplished nothing today because there was nothing that needed to be accomplished.

As the days go on I will be more appreciative of these days that don't mean so much to me now. I chatted with some old friends, told them stories that were just lies tied to dumb jokes.

Listen to whatever music I happen to stumble upon and spend my life watching others enjoy themselves for my enjoyment. I talked about going home today, and where I want to go after this whole "Adventure" they call it is over.

I recollected all the places I've been that I enjoy. NYC: busy, but a beautiful bustling that would keep me busy, Salt Lake City: a blanket spread all throughout Utah, expansive as well as calming. California: a modern vibe that screams tourism and tries to hide it's problems, New Jersey, an interesting place that needs more research in my heart. A mix of city, nature, as well as ocean that never ceased to captivate me for the one week I was there, and the food, oh the food was unbelievable, hearty pastas and pieces of pizza pie that dripped with flavor.

I've never been much for pasta sauce as most people I know buy store bought Ragu and I don't much like the taste. But my uncle makes an unreal sauce that takes hours to cook and contains extra ****** olive oil and smells like a beautiful savory taste in my mouth.

I heat up, and wish that I was never cold again and want to sleep for 4 years and wake up in that place, wherever that may be. Your life revolves around you, but remember to have common decency for your fellow human beings. Let life take you where you want it to, like a passenger inside a taxi. Take me to Lex and leave me there.

I have never had a Valentine, my dear
But if I could have one, I would choose you
2020 was the strangest of years
But it was my favourite, because I met you.

Do you remember our first meeting?
You squeezed too much sanitizer on my hands
Then rubbed them with yours ever so sweetly
My heart didn’t stand a chance.

That June night, I ascended thirteen storeys
And discovered my new favourite view;
Your face that I can’t help adoring
And your eyes of oasis blue.

We spend evenings on your couch watching The Chase
Seeing how many questions we can answer
Followed by Inbetweeners or First Dates
Punctuated by the sound of our laughter.

These are my favourite kind of nights
But then again, any time of day feels special with you
And I’m so happy that you’re mine
And I hope that makes you happy too.

You concoct delicious dishes in your kitchen
Pastas, curries and casseroles
And I don’t believe you that you’re winging it
Because I always empty my bowl.

We share a love of music,
reading and laughing at memes
But my love for these is nothing
Compared to how you make me feel.

Will you be my Valentine every day
If I finally finish this poem?
I just need one more line to say
You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known.