Sometimes I play the role of a good girl
I smile charmingly, an angel to the world
please and thank you are the secret words
to distract the wary enemy,from the harmless fragile little girl
By the time you trust me and leave me with your valuables
I've taken them all, sold to the highest bidder
I vanish from sight, ghastly figment of the imagination
and yet yu are taken
im beautiful
im sweet.
im unique
i make ur heart. skip a beat
u love the way the wind plays in my hair
highlighted hair of red and black  dances in the air
u trust me
but i cant b trusted
because i lie and i steal
and i bribe and ****
but yet u trust me
and now im twisted with fickled feelings
should i theive and **** yu or jus leave yu be?
i have alrdy taken from yu almost everything that i need
and yet yu trust and love and is captured by beautiful me
the dates were lies!  
the ******* were lies
it was jus *** and character. its how i live my life
trust noone and i wont get burned
**** em b4 they hurt me i wont b scorned
i wont b forced to walk and lie on hot coals
i wont be forced to rub myself in a blanket of fire and tears
feelinq misery because its wat  my ex brought on me for years
i stole money from yu and u smiling.
i stole things from yu and ur still feelinq good
i guess why u feelinq good now though. its me
and i cant bear the thoughts of yu actually fallinq in love with me
wanting me with ur being
and ready to share ur world with me
its better for me to just poison with this sweet cup of tea
and yu thought i was so beautiful and sweet
the only unique thing i did was **** yu with tea
i literally made ur heart skip and then stop beating

What i am to yu is not what u need..
What i am to yu is a thick smoke..
What i am to yu is something insignificant..
What i am to yu is jus another lie..
What i am to yu is A wasted time..
What i am to yu is Like quicksand..
What i am to yu is A false pretense ..
What i am to yu is a word with no meaning..
What i am to yu is A tear that lost its way down..
What i am to yu is A sad story..
What i am is simply nothing to yu!

Let me tell you the story
of one named Me
who met one
named You
who went by Yu
for the love of
Oh.

Me first fell in love
with Yu's laugh
and then
with Yu's face
but what Me
loved the most
was Yu's heart.

Yu's smile
brightened Me's life
fade the darkness
and fill it with kisses.

Me and Yu
used to meet
at the last bench
of a magical park.

The trees where
the witnesses
of how their love
was proffessed.

And kiss by kiss
they got
an 'I love you'
that lasted longer
than the time they had.

Me knew
all the many reasons
of the love towards Yu

But Me never knew
what Yu saw in Me.

That would be Yu's story.

As time passed
the 'oh's
became fewer.

And Yu
took them back
and became in You.

Me and Yu's story
ended.

The day You left with Him.

*14

Pyar kiya to nibhaya karo,
Deke dard judai ka na mujhe yu tadpaya karo,
Na lo meri mohabbat ka imtehaan,
Kya kami rah *** meri mohabbat me ye to btaya karo,

Sath na dena ** yadi to sapne na dikhaya karo,
Jana ** dur hi agar to kisi ke zindagi me na yu aaya karo,
Kar ke wada sath nibhane ka,
Mujhe yu akela na chhod jaya karo,

Ae pal ab tum hi es jawane ko samjhaya karo,
Kisi bhi ajanabi ko yu na dil me basaya karo,
Najane kitne aashiq jale honge kisi Ki mohabbat me,
Ai khuda aashiqo ko yu kisi ke mohabbat me na jalaya karo,
Na tadpaya karo.....

I was doing research in Hubei
Where they executed Yu,
That deity soldier glorified
By Buddhists, Taoists too,
I sat perusing manuscripts
That dated from the Ming,
And came across a reference
About Yu’s finger ring.

A ring of gold so broad that it
Would fit a peasant’s wrist,
For Guan Yu was a mighty man
His ring, an amethyst,
Set round with groups of diamonds
It was lost the day, they said,
That Sun Quan had ordered them
To lop off Guan Yu’s head.

They lost it for a thousand years
It turned up with the Ming,
Was lost again in battle with
That mighty force, the Qing,
I’d heard it round the market place
A whisper, now and then,
That ring, it might have surfaced
In the village of Maicheng.

I scoured the streets and alleyways
For signs of old antiques,
Researching as I went, I walked
Around the town for weeks,
I found a backstreet corner shop
One night, and open late,
Run by a dodgy Chinaman
A total reprobate.

He had links to the Triads, they
Would come into the shop,
A shifty group of gangsters with
Their stolen goods to pop,
From where I sat with manuscripts
Up on the second floor,
I’d look straight down the staircase
Watch them come in through the door.

One day they brought in a bundle
******* in a burlap sack,
Threw it down on the counter, said:
‘What do you make of that?’
Fang Zhang then opened the parcel and
He pulled out a giant hand,
The flesh the texture of leather with
A monstrous golden band.

The ring was almost immoveable
The hand, with fingers spread,
Could grasp a maiden around the waist
Or crush a warrior’s head,
I held my breath as the Triad tried
To disengage the thing,
And all the while the diamonds flashed
On that massive golden ring.

Fang Zhang paid over a block of notes
That looked more like a brick,
There must have been a million Yuan
From what I saw of it,
The Triad left and I caught my breath
Fang Zhang had pulled it off,
He threw the hand in a ******* bin
And then I left the shop.

He hid the ring as I walked on through
I had to get some air,
I’d caught a glimpse of a famous ring,
A thing I couldn’t share,
They’d say it didn’t exist, that I
Was dreaming, if I tried,
They thought that it had been lost to view
The day that Yu had died.

I went back down the following day
The Police were there in force,
They stood out front and barred the way
From normal *******,
They told me through an interpreter
Of the ****** of Fang Zhang,
His face was black, for around his neck
Was a massive, ringless hand!

David Lewis Paget

(Pronunciation: Guan Yu - Gwon you
Hubei - Who - bay; Sun Quan - Sun Chu-arn
Qing - Ching; Maicheng - My - cheng
Fang Zhang - Fang Shjang (soft J))

Mi and Yu are well tuned on a common line of blue
When Mi strums blossoms a flower of blue
When Yu plucks flutters a bird of blue
Along the blues of blue highways
Mi and Yu shall meet one day to sing a song of blue
so that  the blues up above can tune to marry rain clouds
so that the blues down below can bloom the gloom
of lavender fields  
so that the blues in between can bolt airy shapes
to glitter their star thymidine
for waters
to mirror their matter
along the supreme
in transparent tones of aquamarine

When Mi takes off her blue flower patterned blouse
Yu holds a blue flower to touch her silky skin
all that love making happen in ripple glitter
along the surface of  a blue lagoon of my childhood dream

so ends the Mi line that starts the Yu line
so ends the Yu line that starts the Mi line
singing a neverending circular song of love
rounding hues -
expanding primary blues -
blooming glooms into
the coalesced blue
heart tones of Mi and Yu

The courtesan and poet Zuo Fen had two cats Xe Ming and Xi Ming. Living in her distant court with only her maid Hu Yin, her cats were often her closest companions and, like herself, of a crepuscular nature.
      It was the very depths of winter and the first moon of the Solstice had risen. The old year had nearly passed.
      The day itself was almost over. Most of the inner courts retired before the new day began (at about 11.0pm), but not Zuo Fen. She summoned her maid to dress her in her winter furs, gathered her cats on a long chain leash, and walked out into the Haulin Gardens.
      These large and semi-wild gardens were adjacent to the walls of her personal court. The father of the present Emperor had created there a forest once stocked with game, a lake to the brim with carp and rich in waterfowl, and a series of tall structures surrounded by a moat from which astronomers were able to observe the firmament.
      Emperor Wu liked to think of Zuo Fen walking at night in his father’s park, though he rarely saw her there. He knew that she valued that time alone to prepare herself for his visits, visits that rarely occurred until the Tiger hours between 3.0am and 6.0am when his goat-drawn carriage would find its way to her court unbidden. She herself would welcome him with steaming chai and sometimes a new rhapsody. They would recline on her bed and discuss the content and significance of certain writings they knew and loved. Discussion sometimes became an elaborate game when a favoured Classical text would be taken as the starting point for an exchange of quotation. Gradually quotation would be displaced by subtle invention and Zuo Fen would find the Emperor manoeuvring her into making declarations of a passionate or ****** nature.
       It seemed her very voice captivated him and despite herself and her inclinations they would join as lovers with an intensity of purpose, a great tenderness, and deep joy. He would rest his head inside her cloak and allow her lips to caress his ears with tales of river and mountain, descriptions of the flights of birds and the opening of flowers. He spoke to her ******* of the rising moon, its myriad reflections on the waters of Ling Lake, and of its trees whose winter branches caressed the cold surface.

Whilst Zuo Fen walked in the midnight park with her cats she reflected on an afternoon of frustration. She had attempted to assemble a new poem for her Lord.  Despite being himself an accomplished poet and having an extraordinary memory for Classical verse, the Emperor retained a penchant for stories about Mei-Lim, a young Suchan girl dragged from her family to serve as a courtesan at his court.
      Zuo Fen had invented this girl to articulate some of her own expressions of homesickness, despair, periods of constant tearfulness, and abject loneliness. Such things seemed to touch something in the Emperor. It was as though he enjoyed wallowing in these descriptions and his favourite A Rhapsody on Being far from Home he loved to hear from the poet’s own lips, again and again. Zuo Fen felt she was tempting providence not to compose something new, before being ordered to do so.
      As she struggled through the afternoon to inject some fresh and meaningful content into a story already milked dry Zuo Fen became aware of her cats. Xi Ming lay languorously across her folded feet. Xe Ming perched like an immutable porcelain figure on a stool beside her low writing table.
Zuo Fen often consulted her cats. ‘Xi Ming, will my Lord like this stanza?’

“The stones that ring out from your pony’s hooves
announce your path through the cloud forest”

She would always wait patiently for Xi Ming’s reply, playing a game with her imagination to extract an answer from the cinnamon scented air of her winter chamber.
      ‘He will think his pony’s hooves will flash with sparks kindling the fire of his passion as he prepares to meet his beloved’.
      ‘Oh such a wise cat, Xi Ming’, and she would press his warm body further into her lap. But today, as she imagined this dialogue, a second voice appeared in her thoughts.
      ‘Gracious Lady, your Xe Ming knows his under-standing is poor, his education weak, but surely this image, taken as it is from the poet Lu Ji, suggests how unlikely it would be for the spark of love and passion to take hold without nurture and care, impossible on a hard journey’.
       This was unprecedented. What had brought such a response from her imagination? And before she could elicit an answer it was as though Xe Ming spoke with these words of Confucius.

“Do not be concerned about others not appreciating you, be concerned about you not appreciating others”

Being the very sensible woman she was, Zuo Fen dismissed such admonition (from a cat) and called for tea.

Later as she walked her beauties by the frozen lake, the golden carp nosing around just beneath the ice, she recalled the moment and wondered. A thought came to her  . . .
       She would petition Xe Ming’s help to write a new rhapsody, perhaps titled Rhapsody on the Thought of Separation.

Both Zuo Fen’s cats came from her parental home in Lingzhi. They were large, big-***** mountain cats; strong animals with bear-like paws, short whiskered and big eared. Their coats were a glassy grey, the hairs tipped with a sprinkling of white giving the fur an impression of being wet with dew or caught by a brief shower.
       When she thought of her esteemed father, the Imperial Archivist, there was always a cat somewhere; in his study at home, in the official archives where he worked. There was always a cat close at hand, listening?
       What texts did her father know by heart that she did not know? What about the Lu Yu – the Confucian text book of advice and etiquette for court officials. She had never bothered to learn it, even read it seemed unnecessary, but through her brother Zuo Si she knew something of its contents and purpose.

Confucius was once asked what were the qualifications of public office. ‘Revere the five forms of goodness and abandon the four vices and you can qualify for public office’.
       For the life of her Zuo Fen could not remember these five forms of goodness (although she could make a stab at guessing them). As for those vices? No, she was without an idea. If she had ever known, their detail had totally passed from her memory.
       Settled once again in her chamber she called Hu Yin and asked her to remove Xi Ming for the night. She had three hours or so before the Emperor might appear. There was time.
        Xe Ming was by nature a distant cat, aloof, never seeking affection. He would look the other way if regarded, pace to the corner of a room if spoken to. In summer he would hide himself in the deep undergrowth of Zuo Fen’s garden.
       Tonight Zuo Fen picked him up and placed him on her left shoulder. She walked around her room stroking him gently with her small strong fingers, so different from the manicured talons of her colleagues in the Purple Palace. Embroidery, of which she was an accomplished exponent, was impossible with long nails.
       From her scroll cupboard she selected her brother’s annotated copy of the Lun Yu, placing it unrolled on her desk. It would be those questions from the disciple Tzu Chang, she thought, so the final chapters perhaps. She sat down carefully on the thick fleece and Mongolian rug in front of her desk letting Xe Ming spill over her arms into a space beside her.
       This was strange indeed. As she sat beside Xe Ming in the light of the butter lamps holding his flickering gaze it was as though a veil began to lift between them.
       ‘At last you understand’, a voice appeared to whisper,’ after all this time you have realised . . .’
      Zuo Fen lost track of time. The cat was completely motionless. She could hear Hu Yin snoring lightly next door, no doubt glad to have Xi Ming beside her on her mat.
      ‘Xe Ming’, she said softly, ‘today I heard you quote from Confucius’.
      The cat remained inscrutable, completely still.
      ‘I think you may be able to help me write a new poem for my Lord. Heaven knows I need something or he will tire of me and this court will cease to enjoy his favour’.
      ‘Xe Ming, I have to test you. I think you can ‘speak’ to me, but I need to learn to talk to you’.
      ‘Tzu Chang once asked Confucius what were the qualifications needed for public office? Confucius said, I believe, that there were five forms of goodness to revere, and four vices to abandon’.
       ‘Can you tell me what they are?’
      Xe Ming turned his back on Zuo Fen and stepped gently away from the table and into a dark and distant corner of the chamber.
      ‘The gentle man is generous but not extravagant, works without complaint, has desires without being greedy, is at peace, but not arrogant, and commands respect but not fear’.
      Zuo Fen felt her breathing come short and fast. This voice inside her; richly-texture, male, so close it could be from a lover at the epicentre of a passionate entanglement; it caressed her.
      She heard herself say aloud, ‘and the four vices’.
      ‘To cause a death or imprisonment without teaching can be called cruelty; to judge results without prerequisites can be called tyranny; to impose deadlines on improper orders can be thievery; and when giving in the procedure of receipt and disbursement, to stint can be called officious’.
       Xe Ming then appeared out of the darkness and came and sat in the folds of her night cloak, between her legs. She stroked his glistening fur.
       Zuo Fen didn’t need to consult the Lu Yu on her desk. She knew this was unnecessary. She got to her feet and stepped through the curtains into an antechamber to relieve herself.
       When she returned Xe Ming had assumed his porcelain figure pose. So she gathered a fresh scroll, her writing brushes, her inks, her wax stamps, and wrote:

‘I was born in a humble, isolated, thatched house,
and was never well versed in writing.
I never saw the marvellous pictures of books,
nor had I heard of the classics of earlier sages.
I am dimwitted, humble and ignorant . . ‘

As she stopped to consider the next chain of characters she saw in her mind’s eye the Purple Palace, the palace of the concubines of the Emperor. Sitting next to the Purple Chamber there was a large grey cat, its fur sprinkled with tiny flecks of white looking as though the animal had been caught in a shower of rain.
       Zuo Fen turned from her script to see where Xe Ming had got to, but he had gone. She knew however that he would always be there. Wherever her imagination took her, she could seek out this cat and the words would flow.

Before returning to her new text Zuo Fen thought she might remind herself of Liu Xie’s words on the form of the Rhapsody. If Emperor Wu appeared later she would quote it (to his astonishment) from The Literary Mind and the Carving of Dragons.

*The rhapsody derives from poetry,
A fork in the road, a different line of development;
It describes objects, pictures and their appearance,
With a brilliance akin to sculpture and painting.
What is clogged and confined it invariably opens up;
It depicts the commonplace with unbounded charm;
But the goal of the form is of beauty well ordered,
Words retained for their loveliness when weeds have been cut away.

Long taim mi sa mekim rong, gutpla tingting em i kamap. Em ikam na em i toktok wantem mi, na em i tok olsem, "Noken bisi long bihainim gris blong snek olsem ya, bihainim tok blong mi na bai yu inap".

Long nait, nek blo yu isave hamamasim mi. Na long moning, hanmak blong yu i woklo stiaim mi long ol gutpla gutpla rot igo long gutpla gutpla wara. Olgeta hevi i woklo lus.

Long taim mi pasim tingting stret long yu, orait mitupla ikam kamap pinis long maunten igo antap. Na antap blong em i antap moa winim ol klaut. Hau bai mi sakim tok blo yu o? Mi nonap, long wanem, tok blong yu i switpla tumas olsem hani i kapsait niupla tru long sait blong diwai. Bai mi hamamas moa yet na nomoa bihainim snek nem blong em, rong.

With all the cards against us we gotta make it manage i swear to God i wish i cld mke yu harm proof what they dont understand its a bigger pic tht i cnt b taken out of ill nvr play yu like lebron vs jordan they say time is money but its not im broke so time all we got n yu cnt mke tht back so give me all yu got treat me like theirs no tomorrow....death over dishonour angel eyes short hair stay the same let the seasons change im willing to build noahs art known it cld b torn apart i aint got a image to uphold i keep the truth i been the truth  im a young simba in his youth. im wondering wat comes with being a better man put Tyson Ali  Mayweather in a ring &  they still cldnt knock my love 4 yu

.h'america.... the last theological playground of... whatever the mind left behind in the decrepit bulwark that's europe... oh... and those mid-western died-hard hitchcock platinum-blondes in a-waiting... my typo pristine dutch-girls-go-to-church mantra... otherwise? no b'ooh'y'ah! chugger-chugger-chugger-chuck-cherry-choppy-chops-you-*******-cuc­­k-chuckie! quasi-whitman wannabe... billy was a butcher... a thematic long lost gun... billy was a butcher... and all the ripe choppers of pork... gave us a belief in snow; and what some heaved with a falling-of-a-star of dis-.belief: i too was bound to glorification of: what was expected to be known! and the subsequent: wow! i have met only the most limited of men... i have therefore met all men... the "all" men of this rubric of a year, a decade... all that's bygone of a yawn; swear it sn't so! a so! that's not be be sown! i am here too: upon the whim of expectation... merely... waiting... a man comes to be born come his 30s... his 40s? his nostalgia "moment"... former known name of: Jack Lil Lick 'Em Boots... and the crescendo of pauper's black lining of the Wall St. "better oiled"... scalp the ******! and send him unto the rabbi's true blessing... in the cusp of the scalp of the kippah!  and now... you take... your anglo-spreschen-tangle... into the salt-wounds of your h'america! first born: young... i don't like your revision... looking toward Europe with a hope for a sensibility... this pseudo deutsche: pseudo dutch, anglo-; this is no loss of the French or the Slav! this is our celebration! does one have an irish phrasing in uns to be at in it or one? beyond this grip boyo bound glue? this clerical spare of the otherwise leftover skivvy? we have made barons of these minutes.... as if we were to be kings of the coming years... and how we didn't become gods of the atoms... and the men of the suns and planets... that is our... most worthwhile conundrum in a da pacem domine bound; you're going to Beirut on me... or something?!

in my haitus away from this canvas:
naive me thought: perhaps a surge...
again proven wrong -
albeit not disappointed -
so i had to look elsewhere -

i had to look for a clarity of diction...
i had to move away from
the western lands and their:
death of god and their death by metaphysics...

even in this barren english...
i could not figure out:
why are these people,
apologetics from the central leftists...
these liberals...
ditto: i will butcher this name...
i will butcher the pronunciation
of this word...

if there are "questions" regarding
what's being phonetically encoded...
so much for me "learning to code"...
i too once wrote a html encoding...
with all the < and < and > toys...
spacing... {[( gradations... etc.,

i had to look east, after a while writing
schlechtdeutschegrammatik...
bad german grammar...
again: it's posthumous "Latin"...
it might be...
bad grammar german...
or german bad grammar...
deutscheschlechtgrammatik...

spelling is the mathematical equivalent
of... arithmetic...
but grammar? you need a ping-pong
table...
you need something cymru-esque...
a scandinavian-esque bilingual cushioning...

english alone will not solve the matter...
it's not french, it's not german,
it's certainly not spanish...
spanish and how post-colonialism was
settled with a post-racial attitudes of
Brazil...
england has taken too much time
looking up and out of the h'american
*******...
no grand satan 'ere...
no silk road bazar of fruits exotica from...
Teheran...
something more... subtle...

i had to go back to the "tsar"...
and the цэркйэв: 'cerkiew'...
and there i was amused how...
well apparently...
there are a lot of words
that do use the sz'cz...
enough... to deviate from
the Latin bollocking represented via
шч = щ....

that's perfectly logical...
i'm done with "perfectly logical"
if it exists outside of the realm of
orthography...

szczypta soli - pinch of salt...
in russian...
щ... that's a bit of a "question"...
yes, yes it is complicated...

szczery / szczera (he's honest /
she's honest)...
szczerość (honesty)...

no it's not... you german fickle-wit!
you forget the ы!

ah! well then... щыптa....
**** me... disorientating...
they could do all that with greek and glagolitic...
but they still had to keep...
latin: roman: holy roman empire: GERMAN...
lowercase lettering...
akin to a... e... c doesn't count...
since that's a greek cedilla "missing"...
ç... or... sigma... ς -
otherwise known in english as that S
after the apostrophe...
when something is called being:
the possessive article...
a (indefinite) the (definite) - some -ism to mind?!
no... but 's is... a bit like the SS...
in greek...
all in lower case: stephen's and...
στεφηνς...
σtephenς: that very much desired: ha!
ridiculous gag... the "much desired"
alternative to an apostrophe S ('s)...

it's Stephen's! it's Stephen's!
it's Sylvester's!
three articles in english:
the indefinite article (a)...
the definite article (the)...
and the possessive article ('s) - apostrophe S...
eS eS!

russian accents...
ъ, ы, ь...

but i only know of one "hard sign" example...
and that disqualifies the J ever needing a lower-case
"dot"... ȷ... namely... зъ: ż... alternatively
also: rz... and ж...
żuk! beetle! somehow the caron makes it...

szczyt! zenith!
щыт!

- and since i'm no longer writing:
i'd be writing if i were monolingual...
or... if i was animated by
the sort of Knausgardian bilingualism
of chop of swede: marker norgie...
but... i'm painting...

i forgot how to write when i could
see "synonyms" of sounds...
entombed in two different phonetic
encodings, namely elevated latin
and "pan-greek": cyrillic...

the variations between:

й and ы...
i.e. via е - "ye"
ё - "yo" (there's an umlaut in russian?!)
"у" - yew and you...
the gamma subscript...
ю - "yu"...
and... я - "ya"...

with regards to this rubric...
i am in the middle...
i can see a distinction between
a "y" (whine why and no I)...
hardly a jotted anecdote...
and yes... the closest the russians
ever come to Cracow is with ы
to a western slavic y...
ask me: toй - ask me: toȷ...
who needs a dot above the J
in the lower-case... if...
if... there's no absolute need for it to
be there: unlike some greenwich mean time
focus?
it ȷust so happens that...
the better clasp of the equator is
married to Greenwich: London...

dr. who time lords:
bellybuttons of the world: the english are...
again: i have to remind myself...
ı am not wrıtıng... ı am... paıntıng...

1(one), l(el)... I and ı(ıota)...
i guess an apostrophe would suffice...
ıf it's not an "ı"...
ı'ota... ı: oath...
sure as fıgurative "****" it's not...

ı must wrıte some more examples
in russıan...
to get me off me mark into
some "wax lyrıcal"...
ıslander mentalıty of the hen'glısch...

see how "the dot" can appear...
and disappear, as one see fıt?
and ıt makes: no little bıt of...
"dıfference"?!

i need to sleep on thıs "exercise"...
dot-pop-up...
dot-fold
dot-pop-up...
dot-fold...

w­­ıll eyes gets it?
hardly...

the rest of these cosmopolitan *******
focused on gwaffiti awt...
which is welsh for: GRA GRA...
when was the last time you heard
an englishman trill an R?
ı can't remember...
give me a night to soak up the pickling
juıces... i can't remember the last time
i heard an homest trIll eıther!
pauper me...

it's probably because of the welsh:
GWA GWA! gwadleıth cowonew...
or coroner row row row a rombat into a rue:
or a woo...
rhyme: contorts...
shapes and disappearing: oopses...
a whole multıtude of 'em...
come like the tıde...
leave... lıke a tilde... quası N:
it's a... H is a zeus...
and J is a Ha Ha Ha wrap-up rap of
laughter: in spanısh: of course...

i don't wrıte... ı paint...

impromptu interludes, quickened:
i'm a marriage of two continents...
and one island...
east of moscow...
asia... west of warsaw and...
these gloomy island pits of
idiosyncracy... never quiet the icelandic
answer to norway...
or greenland's answer to denmark...
but an island... nonetheless...

- to hell witth cascading linear cascades
of narrative: i'm blind to the optics
of "the narrative" in the paragraph
format...

i will look back east...
i will look at the russian script...
i will look at it as a time in ******
history equivalent to:
why didn't you just think of it as Greek?
but "my people" didn't...
and i'm not exactly a "why / didn't"...
i'm part of the excavation machinery...
i come with what was served...
i will leave without
leverage...

and here is the russian icon translated
from the Babel...
the following are orthodox letters
shared by one and all
to the western lands...

а б в г д e з и й
к л м н o п р c т
у ф

a b v g d e z i j
k l m n o p r s t u
f

now we leave: łen łill that be?
we should all somehow know...
to łork out a When a Where
(notably with the "h" being but a surd)...

mother how should i further this?
herbata
hasło (ha-s-woe)
hołd (**-**-w'd)

to no other: otherwise only in scotland:
the loch of tipsy work...
albeit: orthographic distinction...
хęć - a whim a desire...
a loch is no: cheat of a lake...
latching onto the otherwise boredom caron
exposed...

дух (ghost) with a душa (soul)...

else there's c dissociated from the s...
and more so with a kappa kaput...
the drumstick slick on a wet snare of: tss...
ц - almost...
then morphing into a ць -
yet in my version: no so silent...
ćma: moth...
цmokaць / cmokać: to click with the tongue...
to kiss smackingly -
to ingest food via a smoczek...
a smoчek - a smoček... the baby soother...

this is my third day having to return to
this canvas...

first thing's first:
palatization (palatißation)
is not... a name of german crusader song:
palästinalied...

this is one of the main reasons why
i can't imagine myself as being able:
to write a novel -
i can't bear this birth of words into
this pseudo-Kandinsky -
it would be much easier with painting
something for a year -
than writing for a year -
the same thing, over and over again...

if i write a "poem" or, rather, a poo'em...
i expect the concept of
ensō: a circle has to be drawn with
a single uninhibited stroke...
when the body is set free and the body
merely complies...

comparison... if one were to draw
a most pristine ensō...
one would never achieve an ouroboros
depiction... it's quiet impossible
to use one volume of ink
attached to a stroke to complete
a circle... let alone a depiction
of an ouroboros...
what starts off as concrete soon...
fades away... thins out...
until there is so little ink left
on the brush that individual hairs
of the brush start appearing...

a pristine depiction of life...
but never the hardline ouroboros
depiction: this cerberus of reincarnation:
i never would have believed in it -
given that: there would have to be
a limited number of souls...
the thought that i might be introspective
enough as to be one of these: "elites"...
and the rest... were "n.p.c." drones...
zombie-esque drifters...
that had no psychological infrastructure
to have memory and rubric of learning
bound to them to be: invested in?

i am still going to write this Kandinsky...
one way or another...
but i can say only that:
i can imagine myself returning
to a painting - and painting it for a year...
but a book?
if a poem can't be written in one sitting...
it's not a poem...
this is not a poem: this is a novel
equivalent...
the best to my ability: which is none...

all i will ever manage with this
is a pedantic scrutiny of russian orthography,
how i don't follow metaphysical arguments
of the germans, the english or the french,
because i don't dream that often,
and when i do dream?
i dream up nonsense...
last time i dreamed that a hiena was
biting at my arm like a corn-cob...
but it wasn't biting to draw blood...
it was biting and cackling in order
to tattoo me... it bit into my arm and detailed
indentations akin to braille...
a pianola roll...

and that's the only details of the dream
i can remember...
perhaps i strained memory...
perhaps people who dream...
are fond of forgetting...
perhaps i don't dream because i can
remember being 4...
a shadow (my maternal great-grandfather)...
a large piano, a small piano...
he worked a retirement as a security guard
in a kindergarten...
i once spent an afternoon with him...
i have seen pictures of him...
but i don't remember the face in the photographs...
he sat me before a bonsai piano
while he sat at the large piano...
and i guess: we were going to be the new
Chopins or something...
he's still a shadow... a grey form...
perhaps a extract of memory that reaches
back 29 years is the reason why i don't
dream... then again...

what if i were to have recurrent dreams?
i've heard people have recurrent dreams...
i just have details of dreams...
i'm not complaining but...
it has become exhausting to simply sleep sometimes...
to replay that lullaby of the void...
yes: yes... i will return to russian orthography:
give me a moment!

well, on my "haitus" i had to look beyond
"conventionality"...
there was a period where i found
the glagolitic script - i said to myself:
there must be an equivalent alphabet to match
the runes...

there must have been a way to encode
without the romans and greeks...
after all... there is the St. Cyrill alphabet
and that of Methodus...
how many ethnic groups are there
on this old, yawning continent -
minor point: old age is not plagued by
yawning - only youth yawns...
old age is cured of yawning -
hanging over them the yawning death...
when father - when father - will this old
ponce come into my *****?

glagolitic and cyrillic?
well Ⰱ Б...
Ⱂ and P... which is not exactly lent-greek...
i guess it's only "wise"
to go back into the modern scribbles...

there are so many branches
to be plucked off a pine
to reserve yourself with ending up
to owning a pike...
so what would it help me:
if i had to reverse and ezra pound
my way forward...
bubble bulging roma notations?
i see: when that chisel in marble
V is not supposed to be a U...

EVROPA... etc.

i need to bring to the fore my own
distinctions...
spread: universally within the confines
of the people that speak it:
i even had to made balkan additions...
like the caron S and caron C...
to hide the english gimmick
of SHarp and CHeat...
evidently we use the Z to replace
the H when stressing our "demands"...
Šarp and Čeat...

so back into russian?
i almost forgot that i said...
their orthography is not worth the dog's
bollocking of a lick...

i was wrong, obviously...
but even the russians are supposed
to be allowed their idiosyncracy -
their orthographic pedantry...
russian orthographic pedantry?
ah...

when е met э...
was also the time when э didn't meet з...
this is pedantic...
another russian pedantic "detail"...
how many Y's or J's do you need...
to detail: the elongated-iota?
before... "****" becomes confusing...
within the confines of gamma...

i'm pretty sure the russians have
fixated their attention on the Y/J "debate"
working from their central premise of
the english AYE... I... the pronoun bunker...
der deutsche affirmative: ja!
yah in the hebrew respective for: wisdom...

let's see... i'm pretty sure the russians
have all the vowels bow to this mecca
of Moscow, cite me: and please reiterate...
that i use J and Y interchangeably...
i don't imply: to jot - to "dz"ot...
or Joseph in Ypres...

otherwise: a yeti climbing a yew shouting: yes!
it's not exactly jargon -
but... a prefix y- in english...
is not a suffix -y in english...
which just... "out of the blue"...
demands to be associated with the iota
of: ply... and yet: it's no i.e. e'et...
it's neither ate or the fwench and (et)...
it's a yeti... but not a jetty!

never mind... back into the fussy russian...
i'm pretty sure you will find all
of the pentagram (vowels) bowing before
the altar of pseudo-gamma:

                                     ю (yu)
                                    /
(details in) й ------ я (ya) -- ы (oh look, solo!)
   the above"rant")  |
                                  у (which is a u)
                                /   \
                     e (ye)       ё (yo)

almost... but i'm far from learning russian...
i find these orthographic details...
coexisting...

зъ = ж = ż = rz = ř / ž...

eastern, mother slavic...
beginning with a western slavic translation
"innovation"...
central / western slavic...
balkan slavic...
oh we are such famous clarinet players!
because what happens
when the caron is sliced into two...
and an acute ****** pops out?!

hence the зъ beginning...
yes... it's not "silent"... it's simply not
palatalißed... the tongue doesn't tip-off
the palette... the sound escapes via
the gritting of teeth...
with it: the tongue can rattle and a trill
R is heard...

зъ (ż) contra зь (ź) -
życzenia - well wishes| źródło - source...
now to only write these words
in russia - without knowing the russian
noun-denotations...
for orthographic purposes...

жыченя... or is it... жычениa?
зьруд... problem... can't find the english
W in russian... or the ****** Ł...
there's the english V... the ****** W...
but russian doesn't translate (Вв)
so vell into wery: not so weary but
nonetheless very not so, so...

my problem is not about that though...
this poem this poo'em this:
a pigeon drops a zeppelin-****
on your top-hat implies good luck...
no 13's or black cats crossing your path either...
i could most honestly spend
100 years of each of the 100 individuals
bound to the salt mines in the vicinity
of Beijing... and i would still find myself...
without tears...
because this is the most inexhaustible
crux: it's really bugging me foundation stone...

i won't even mind the modern greeks
at this point... they do use diacritical markers
too... but over-do it... as if compensating
or trying to compete on level par
with their metaphysical dittos...

чaхa: czacha... almost slang term for:
czaszka... чaкшa...
and this is by no means "smart"...
i can't solve crosswords puzzles...
well i can: but i need to find myself
in the company of my grandmother...
in the morning...
i would have had to drooled over some novel
from 7am until she gets out of bed
come 9am... we'd drink coffee and i'd
smoke cigarettes...
and it would be a month prior to christmas
or easter, or the interlude...
and... i'd be freed from writing or
reading anything in english...
either me looking at diacritical distinctions
in the realm of orthography between:
russian, ******, balkan...
or... me never learning french,
or attempting to: ever, again!

******* suffix-eaters...
dyslexics in reverse...
say one thing: write another thing...
this is probably born from my frustration
at being unable to learn french...
perhaps after having acquired english
i was given german to learn...
but no... first hurdle... french...
flop!
now it's a diet of no crosswords...
some sudoku from time to time...
and my new hobby after having found
"too many" googlewhacks...

so there's nothing smart about this:
this is in no way useful to anyone -
being the sort of person
to "mind" whenever one's being asked
to spell their surname...
it's hardly that difficult but...

would i go for the echo sierra charlie
hotel lima echo romeo tango...
or go out full greek with it?
perhaps the greek...
since that would solve the problem
i've had for a while,
concerning the eta / epsilon "debate"...

how does a greek laugh -
what is the crux letter via which
a greek laughs?
you see a H shape on the horizon...
but you... hear the noun: eta...
you later see the name eta...
but that's eta: without an apostrophe...
the apostrophe 'eta being the "surd" H...

in greek then...
epsilon sigma... **** it... there's no "sch"
of a german worth in greek...
let's cut it out:
epsilon lambda epsilon rho tau...

otherwise in russian...
once more:

ś(lub) - wedding - сь(люб)
"soft" sign - ' - apostrophe -
or ACUTE elsewhere...
why not сьлуб?
i don't know... it's not like сь is even
minded in russian...

ah! my favorite!
goń! gonitwa: a race -
the verb impetus: race! chase after!
гoнь!

since ы is the "odd" one out between
the application of "ь" and
and "ъ"...
come to think of it...
ы gave birth to: ю (yu), я (ya),
у (u), й ("y"), и ("e")...
i... i.e. and... in ******...
akin to those languages that use e...
to also imply and...
ё (yo)... how did i miss the umlaut
infiltrating the russian 'bet...
i blame catherine the great!
and... е (ye)...
is that the pentragram?
u, a, e, i, o... yes! we have it!

i truly had better days when sudoku was
the better puzzle to fill a day with...
not this... from glagolitic, to greek,
to roman, to post-roman to russian
and back into...

if we are all "supposedly" literate...
begs the question why: why oh why the emoji...
the *******-wanking hieroglyphics...
the :) and what not...
i guess to better escape this sort of
headaches... minor chances of everyone
becoming a bilingual:
but what's there to brag about
being bilingual!
i guess the polyglots do not have such
headaches of detail...
they just... bypass these rules and regulations...

to better guide me:
if i managed to sift through james joyce's
finnegans wake... and didn't find any
diacritical markers in it?
can't i compensate?
i'm compensating right now!
if the 2010s as a decade was a decade
filled with... sisyphus titans akin
to kant, hiedegger, kierkegaard,
knausga(a)rd, joyce...
beckett - yes...
again that hollowed "y" distinction!
it's not a sisi: yes yes problem...
hardly me being ***** either...
e'ver... i'ver...
ain't that a *****...

clarity of diction... the best motto there is...
crab-bucket-intellectualism:
alternatively the focus away from
any ontological stressors of "example" -
ontological and its variant of
a priori:
perhaps, given that the ontological
is an a priori argument...
here's my crossword puzzle -
ref. thesaurus rex...

and by no means... at all...
etymology is the better variant of any known
history...
when this bundle of words:
that an ontological dialectic can be achieved:
that ontology can be given within
as much as an a priori: bigot! focus...
with as much as an a posteriori:
wizened unicorn quid pro quo tanz!

hamsterwheel loopholes or:
crab-bucket intellectualism...

now: i really could have put these words
to better use... to make them linear...
less cryptic... but how can i?
i'm solving a crossword puzzle in reverse!
i don't expect the easily scared moths
to entertain this fire...

i expect midgets to be dancing...
before my eyes...
whenever i listen to
faun's tanz mit mir
or in extremo's rotes haar...
when the bagpipes and the flutes
kick in...

- since if i were to write a coherent sentence:
succumb to a linear narrative...
i'd people reading this to be also found:
easily talking about it...
perhaps i don't enjoy freedom of speech
as much as i enjoy the freedom to think...
perhaps i haven't written anything
worth speaking about, regurgitating,
making vogue, working for some intellectual
period-piece of "vogue"...
perhaps this is a shared problem,
hidden in a cipher...
of: how i can't heave this tool...
this tapeworm of existence,
this medium of god...
to later trash it, to have nothing better
to do with it other than play-games...
worded games... crossword puzzles...
perhaps i need a crossword puzzle to imply:
neighbour's share some words...
together... but then write them differently...
perhaps i require a crossword puzzle...
to read into some russian...
on the praxis base of english...
flying past Warsaw toward the itch
of the edge of Asia...
breathe the air - the heart of the continent...

perhaps i would have never managed
to escape this world if i ingested
mind-benders of the h'american 1960s
revolutionary schematics of the:
new-humanists... crash course in literature:
only one magic mushroom trip away!

фoрк ин дэ рoaд (fork in the road)

ИN...

some shared words, of etymological
curiosity...

(fork) вилка - wilka -
polish? wilka? that which belongs to
a wolf... widelec...
видэлэц...

(knife) нож - nóż -
well... orthography comes into play...
while people can have their...
ahem... in-the-meantime metaphysical
playground...
the ground, the word,
the geology is already here...
written alternatively?
нузъ...

i take a different stance to the common day
****** back east...
when russia starts slagging you off...
you put on a Boris Yeltsin mask on
and dance the drunk panda dance...

(spoon) ложка - łyżka -
in polish? ah those russians... ло ло...
лож: lorz...
lo lo and behold the translated
quasi-russian into the borders of europe...
ł.w.(ызъка)...

black and white (черный и белый):

czarny i biały: rho-si-ye!
char-nee-ye! bel'ye)...

perhaps the timing is a bit off:
the proper wording would be:

czarno na białym -
not: in black and white...
чaрнo на биa-wh-ым...

knocked-out to be honest...
the russians use ый like that?
YJ? oh right! i use it too!
in the prompt:

tyj! tyj ty grubasie!
hmm... -asie...
it would do me a lot of good...
if that iota didn't have a decapitated
head of a halo hovering above it...
why? so i could introduce the acute
slant over the S and surd it...
i.e. -aśιe...

тый! ты груб... exactly...
grub-               -aсьие
тый! ты грубaсьие!
to grow fat: тый!
              "problem": -aśιe vs. -aсьие...
well... it's there: сь...
but it also isn't there: и...

but it isn't: but it also isn't...
i just managed to find out that...
in warsaw (if i lived in warsaw)...
we have that conjunction: -ый-
however rare it is: it is there...

any more delegations from Moscow?
tyj! tyj ty grubasie!  
and i will write these last few words
and know why i don't really feel like
solving crosswords puzzles...
or doing those i.q. schematic tests...

**** it... the welsh should know and help me
out... concerning?
how it's YN and not IN...
how it's Y and not I when referring to THE gwyll:
dusk...
y gwyll o hywels: the dusk of powells...
only the welsh would know my "pain"...
yn y gwyll o y hywels:
in the dusk of the powells...

taking a step back - a step back...
yes yes, apologies... if my punctuation...
is too much of a ******* arithmetic!
too bad!

p.s. and yes... don't leave anything lying
around in the drafts or as private...
chances are... with a 2 day delay...
this will never be fed into the LATEST feed.

Meri muskurahat sirf tum se hai,
Meri khushi sirf tum se hai,
Kyon anjaan banke itna tadpate ** mujhe ye jaankar bhi ki,
meri zindagi sirf tum se hai,
meri zindagi sirf tum se hai...

Aankhen nam kar kahan chale gye tum
yu bnake mujhe zinda lash,
sisak-sisak ke ro rha dil ye mera
banke wo dardila aawaj,
ye phulo ki khushboo sirf tum se hai,
meri zindagi sirf tum se hai,
meri zindagi sirf tum se hai...

Kis gunah ki saja tumne mujhe diya...?
Ban ke bewafa tumne pyaar ko badnam kyon kiya....?
Mila tumse mohabbat karne ka sila mujhe,
Jite ji tumne mujhe ye judai ka zahar kyon diya...?

Na karte pyar kabhi bhi tumse agar pta hota mujhe judai ka gam,
Karke mujhe akela, kahan chale gye wo bewafa sanam,
Kya duniya ki yahi reet hain...?
Pyar aur Judai me aksar kyon judai ka hi jeet hain....?
Kis janam ka badla sanam tumne mujhse liya...?
Karke ghayal dil ko, mujhe akela yu chhod diya,

Ab to ye duniya mujhe tane mar rahi,
Kabhi laila majnu to kabhi heer ranjha ki pyar ki kahaniya suna rahi,
Ja bewafa ja khush raho uske sath jise tumne apna bna liya,
Dard dekar mujhe jo mere dil ko
DARD -E- DIL bna diya,
DARD -E- DIL bna diya.....

Akela ** gya hoon tere bin jab se tune mujhe chhod diya,
Tor ke mera DIL mere pyar se jo yu mu'h mor liya,
Jab jab dekhi tujhe ye meri udas aankhen,
Chalak gye aansoo Jab yaad aai wo purani batein,
Kaise mitaoo sanam tera ye bharam,
Tujhe chahenge hum har janam,

Teri khusi me maine apni khusi ko dhundh liya,
Tu khush rahe sad'a eske liye maine rab se dua kiya,
Ab saare dard -e- gum bhula diye hum,
Tujhe chahenge hum janam -janam,

Ab har o pal tere bin main dard bhari yaado ke saath ji'h raha hoon,
Ekbar dekh lo mujhe ai jalim,
Tu kisi ke saath muskura rahi aur main akela ro'h raha hoon,
Puchh rahi ye duniya sari bewafa tum ya bewafa ** gye hum,
Tujhe chahenge hum janam janam,

Na mili mujhe tere sath jine ki khushi es janam to kya hua,
Tut gye hain hum, dil ko mere bahut dard hua ,
Khush ** jayengi zindagi meri jab es duniya ko chhod chale jayenge hum o bewafa sanam,
Tujhe chahenge hum har janam....

It only takes a second to enter a new year
An event that will come & go & leave yu here
The sky is still blue, birds still singing
***** closet still awaits you, still needs cleaning

If yu had a beer in 2020, 2021 would not complain if yu threw up
Neither would 2020 worry nor ****** your snack planned for 2021

2021 is a house that will still fall if 2020 was a foundation on sand
If yu wave "bye" at 2020, then yu should have solutions at hand, or
2020 wil run after yu coz debts remain debts
And the deeper you went, the higher you will need to go to overcome the depth

The illusion is for a fresh start
A review of the past
A determination to end or start a new thing
Of success, a yardstick

Our forefathers relied on a shadow
.....many rains ago
Trying to mark day, year and season
This one here, an illusion

Tanha yuhi kat jata safar agar tum sath na hote.....
manzil yuhi rhe jaati agar tum sath na hote....

dekhu to duniya mai saari magar....
ye rang dekh na pau....
jee kar bhi is duniya me....
adhoora bin tere rhe jau....

ye baarish yuhi tham jaati ager tum sath na hote....
ye duniya meri tham jaati agar tum sath na hote....

me jaanu to duniya ko kaeyi naam se.....
me jaanu mujhe bs tere naam se....
ye duniya na jaan paati mujhe....
jo ye lafz meri phechaan na hote....

ye naam yu he bikhar jata ager jo tum sath na hote....
hasti meri mar jaati ager tum phechaan na hote....

By : HR COLLECTION

Yaad aata mujhe
tera ye Khubsurat chehra,
Kab tak rahogi yu dur mujhse,
Laga ke mere Dil pe apne pyaar ka pahera,
Baitha hoon esi intezar me,
Dekhlu tujhe ji'h bhar ke main,
Kho jau es kadar tere pyaar me,
Tera **** hain khusboo,
Teri mohabbat hain lahera,
Yaad aata mujhe
Tera ye khubsurat chehra,
Ye khubsurat chehra.......


Kaun sulajhaye es paheli ko,
Jab roti hain aankhen,
Tab dard hota hain es dil ko,
Mere dil-o-dimag pe ab teri yaadon ka pahera,
Yaad aata mujhe
tera ye khubsurat chehra,
Ye khubsurat chehra.........

i still luv you...i doo..but from the looks of it were through...neva plan your life with someoone
tht young ,unless your 4 sure or certain tht he's the one....i neva thought seeing yu with
anotha girl...this time will hurt this much...but i have seem to lost all trust...the gurl
is different from me...and thtz true but i neva thought that we would be through
this soon...hoping tht i was gonna be the one yu call boo...but by the looks of it now...
im fooled...

juda hoke tujhse tut jayenge hum ,
Tere bina o sanam ab mar jayenge hum,

O hawa tham ja jara ye to bata de
Kab ek- dusare se mil payenge hum ,
tere bina o sanam ab mar jayenge hum....

zindagi ki dor se tum bandhe **,
Bata do sanam tum mujhse kyon ruth gye **,
Tujhe pane ke liye har dukh sah jayenge hum
Tere bina o sanam ab mar jayenge hum. .. ...

Khud me dhundhane laga hoon tujhe ,
Jaan se bhi jyada chahne laga hoon tujhe
Tu meri kismat me nahi to kya hua,
Teri yaadon ko hi apna zindagi banayenge hum ,
Tere bina o sanam ab mar jayenge hum. .. ..

Rone lagi kalme bhi meri teri yaadon ko likh
kar,
Hansne laga jawana bhi mere dil ki baat soon
kar,
Najane tujhe pane ke liye kitne thokar
khayenge hum,
Tere bina o sanam ab mar jayenge hum. ..

tujhe to meri yaad bhi na aai ,
kaise katengi ye meri tanhai,
tanha yu akela es duniya se chale jayenge
hum,
Tere bina o sanam ab mar jayenge hum. .

Bi-yu-ti-ti-e-ar-ef-el-way, Butterfly.

Dites sa jundo kong superhate ng mga relihiyoso
dahil nakarehistro daw sa jimpiyerno,
akis na-sight and realized
ang bundara ng pagiging paru-paro.

Lahat ites natanto ng lola mo
nang akis ma-inlab kay Superman
at siyempre kay *****-man.
Mga moralista kuno, silencio muna.

Ang mga verbals ng lola mo
na nagpapajalakpak sa inyo
ay laging jinjatulan
ng unfair nating lipunan.

Ang majujulay kong pekpak
na rumarampa para sa mga jutoko
ay ang aliw na nagpapabongga
sa mga chapters n'yong aura.

Bi-yu-ti-ti-e-ar-ef-el-way, Butterfly...

Jab*  jab  teri  yaad  aai  mujhe
mere  dil  ko  ­bechain  kar  diya,
Lut  ke  us  hasin  pal  ko­
mere  khushi  ko  gam  me  badal  diya,
Ye  pal­   najane  kyon  khafa  hai    mujhse
Bna  ke  tumhe­  zindagi  meri
mujhe  tumse  dur  kar  diya,
mujhe  tumse  dur  kar  diya,

Tere  bagair  jine­  se  achha  hai  ye  maut  sukun  ka, Kash!  laut  aati  wo  khushi  ke  do  pal, mit­  jatein  dard  teri  judai  ka,
Bhar  ke  aansoo­  mere  aankhon  me
Kya  khub  tune  mohabbat  ka­  sila   diya,
Kar  ke  waadein  sath  nibhane  ka
mujhe  ­jo  yu  anjaan  rahon  me  akela  chhod  diya,
a­kela  chhod  diya.....

Blood
Flood
Monster of forest
Hit this crest.

Rose
Touches the nose
Turn to whip
Tangled in hip.

White
Cloud
Smoke built
Cover the field.

Handsome
Man
Turn to wolf
Kills the troop.

Hand
Gun
Creates a ray
Kills the prey.

Wood
Sword
Spiritual weapon
Of weird goon.

Wild
Thousand eyes
Protects the pearl
Carried by teary girl.

Black
Dark
Dragon from hand
Eat the notorious band.

Tune mujhe rula diya,
Waadein kar pyar ke,
Ek pal me bhula diya,
Yu to hum bhula dete tumhen,
Lekin ye Kambakhat dil hain,
Jo Tujhe yaad kar harbar
Mujhe rula diya......


Dekho mujhe sanam
Kitna udas hoon main,
Jite hua bhi tere bina
Ban gya ek zinda lash hoon main,
Tor kar mere sare sapne tune,
mere dil ko jakhmi bna diya,
Tune mujhe rula diya.....

Rota hain Manish dekh kar
Apni tuti kalame,
Kaise bhula di ai bewafa
Wo bite lamahen,
wo bite lamahen....


Gum aur Pyar ki ye kaisi Dosti,
Koi kisi ko rula diya to
Koi kisi ko hansa diya,
Aajtak pura na ** saka kisi ka pyaar,
Kyoki kisi ne pyaar ko hi
adhura bna diya,
tune mujhe rula diya,
Tune mujhe rula diya.....

this is so *******...!
I'm not even good at sports.
I am addicted...

u emerge from the smoke
and merge within again

i ask myself
if you're the same person
inside & outside the smoke

are you?

the haze turns purple
findin yu, gets harder
my rovin eyes..get
not a moment of rest
findin yu &
buildin stories..

distance shortens
between me to yu..
m 'ere
yet i feel
your warm breath
on my cheek..

there are moments
when i want to go
actively insane
this is one such

i can't help myself
can you?

Tera yu mere paas aana ,
Aapne pyaar ka ehssas karana ,
Yaad hai mujhe!

Meri aanko Mei doob Jana,
Yu Tera mere maate ko chumna ,
Yaad hai mujhe!

Mujh par aapna haq jatana,
Mere karib aakar mere ruh ko chu Jana
Meri hooto ki laali churana,
Yaad hai mujhe!

Ki, Meri jiid ko Puri karna,
Meri nadaniyu se pyaar karna,
Yaad hai mujhe!

Mere rutne pe Tera mujhe manana,
Meri sadgi pe yu Tera fida ** Jana,
Yaad hai mujhe!

Teri sari baate yaad hai mujhe,
Lekin bas itna batana,
Kya ,ab bhi Mei yaad hu tujhe?

Aapka saath humein har janam mein mile,
Dua hai hamari aapke jivan mein phul khile.

Sabse khushnaseeb hai hum mere humsafar,
Jo aapka saath hai hamare saath har dagar.

Meri rooh ka rishta hai gehra us rooh se,
Chehra basa hai sirf aapka dil ki tasveer mein.

Sagar ki gehrayi bhi kam hai is mohabbat ke saamne,
Beinteha mohabbat hai tumse kehti hai dadhkane.

Ruke na zindagi me hamare pyaar ki hawa,
Hum tumhare hain tum hamare oo humnawa.

Sukoon milta hai sun khud ka naam aapke saath,
Jaise koi subah judi ** shaam ke saath.

Meri haathon ki lakeere, mehandi sirf aap **,
Har pal aapka hi rehta hai khayal humko.

Qubool ** gayi har dua tumhari,
Jab se mili hain saanse hamari.

Dil ki gehrayi se chand ki roshni se,
Kehna chahte hain hum kuch aapse.

Phulo ke kagaz par likhte hain kuch labz,
Beinteha mohabbat hai har lamha har nabz.

Jaati nahi aankhon se surat aapki,
Aapki zindagi mein rang bharne ki kasam khayi.

Mil gaye humein hamare bholenaath,
Jab se mila is khaas dost ka saath .

Aapko dekhte hi ** jaata hai dil bekaraar,
Aapko mile khushiyan beshumaar.

Jab saath hai aapka dil mein dadhkan ki jagah,
Fir zindagi ko saanso ki jaroorat kahan.

Rabb se yhi ibadat mein karte hain fariyaad,
Ye jodi yu hi banaye rakhna kr tumhe yaad.

Kabhi ruth na jaana humse piya,
Saath rehne ka vaada hai kiya .

Jabse mehsoos kiya is dil ne aapko,
Milne gayi zameen par jannat humko.

Pyaar saccha ** tou waqt bhi Ruk hai jaata,
Is pavitra rishtey ke liye aasman bhi jukh jaata.

Aapse shuru hote hain hum aapke saath hi khatam,
Saath rahenge aapke har janam mere sanam.

Love na love talaga kita eh, and it would mean so much lalo na
pag binanggit ko pa na mahal na mahal na talaga kita. NAPAKA STRANGE.

He is shy, kind, innocent, pleasant, different, even for a guy
He is fragile, sweet and mostly meaningful, mostly to my life.

Kahit alam kong wala kami dun sa stage na,
"in relationship" i'd bother myself to care.
Kasi he is meaningful, mahalaga siya saakin, yung tipong kaya ko syang alagaan at aalagaan no matter what. I would make time for him just to see him, smile, laugh or even giggle a bit, because his  happiness makes the most out of him and it makes me happy too.
Kung kakayanin kong kwentuhan siya gabi gabi hanggang sa makatulog sya gagawin ko (kaso ang tagal nya mag reply kaya ako yung nakakatulog :3)

Sabi nila sakin,

"grabe na yan ahh. baka nakakalimutan **** babae ka pa din ah?"

Sabi ko,

"oo alam ko, at alam ko yung ginagawa ko."

"yun naman pala eh, ano yan?"

"ang alin?"

"yang tipong support support na yan?"

"wala namang masama dyan, atleast napapakita ko padin sakanya na mahalaga siya sakin, kahit di nya nararamdaman"

"ayooooooon, manhid"

di na ko sumagot, sumasama din kasi yung loob ko pag naririnig kong sinasabihan sya na manhid eh, kahit totoo, parang sakin bumabalik kasi ako yung nagbibigay ng effort pero parang di nya na fe-feel. Pero mahal ko padin siya, walang makakapag bago dun.

Yung mga simpleng tweet nya na, napapalundag ako sa kilig at tuwa.
Yung mga kindat nya na (kahit hindi siya marunong) nakakamatay.
Yung mga biglang ngiti nya na, nasusulyapan ko bawat tingin.
Yung mga mata nyang mapupungay na lagi akong dinadala sa langit (hindi naman siya chinito, feeling lang hahaha)
Yung kilay at buhok nyang lagi kong hinahaplos (naka keratin daw eh hahaha)
Yung boses nyang sintonado, pero pag kinakanta nya yung "When You Say Nothing At All" pati ung "Life of the Party" lumalabas yung pagka inner Michael Buble nya.
Yung moves nya na mala 90's, na pag sumasayaw sya sa harap ko napapatakip nalang ako kasi, mas lalo akong nafafall.
Yung kuko nyang laging bagong gupit.
Yung amoy nya na parang amoy baby, tapos minsan panlalaking panlalaki (seryoso nakaka ******)

At maraming maraming marami pa.
He's my kind of perfect.
Sabi nga nila, pag mahal mo ang isang tao, lahat ng imperfections nya sa sarili o sa buhay pa yan, his flaws, handang handa kang tanggapin yun ng buong buo, walang labis, walang kulang.

Love is accepting, who they are and what they are.
Diba sabi mo di ka marunong mag luto? Ako din eh, siguro sa tamang panahon, we would invent kinds of dinner or even breakfast and lunch, that your dad and my mom used to do. Kahit di tayo sigurado sa anong lasa nung pagkain na magagawa natin, as long as we got it each other, we can make it better.

Di ko alam kung bat umabot ako dito eh, alam mo bang onting onti nalang, ako na talaga manliligaw sayo? Ang bagal mo kasi eh. Hahaha joke lang, syempre hanggang panaginip ko nalang yon.

Nung coronation night, pinuntahan kita sa dressing room nyo,
I was really stunned, as you walked out that room. Destiny nga ba talaga? I was REALLY shocked, kasi merong SLOW MOTION, i have never felt that feeling before, NEVER!
Tapos yung sinabi ni Sir Yu, may kwinento sya sakin tungkol sa napagusapan nyo tungkol sakin. Long story-short, naglululundag ako sa kilig at tuwa na, who would have thought na masasabi mo pala yung mga ganung salita na yun.
Tapos si B1, haha natatawa nga ko kasi kinikilig daw siya satin, aabangan nya daw yung next chapter natin, ang tanong meron nga ba?

Jon Ray Ico Ramos! Oo ikaw! Malakas loob ko banggitin pangalan mo dito, kasi wala kang account dito at di mo alam na may ganito ako, ibig sabihin di mo to mababasa and as far as i know walang taga SCCV ang may ganito, well. HAHAHAHA!
Mahaaaaal na mahaaaal kita. Minsan sa sobrang saya ko pag kausap kita napapatype nalang ako ng "I love you" muntik na nga akong makasend nyan sayo eh, buti nalang talaga hindi hahaha :3 wala na kong masabi kasi inaantok na talaga ako as innn.

Basta sana pagka gising mo, mabasa mo to (pero syempre di mo to mababasa) para malaman mo na, ikaw ang huli kong iniisip bago ako matulog.

Good mor-night!
---------------
Good morning, Jon Ray!


P.S: sinadya ko talagang ipost to ng 5:55 AM kasi favorite number mo ang 5 so, ayan :)

Tere bagair jine lage hum,
Ro ro ke aansuo ko pine lage hum,
ishq me tute es tarah,
ki kahi ke na rahe hum,
tere bagair jine lage hum,
tere bagair jine lage hum.....


dil me ek tamanna lekar,
tuti hui khawabo ke saath,
tanha yu akela tumhare pyar me
khone lage hum,
tere bagair jine lage hum .. .


yaad kar un lamho ko mar mar ke jiya hoon,
bina soche samjhe tujhe dil de diya hoon,
har pal teri yaadon me khone lage hum,
tere bagair jine lage hum,
tere bagair jine lage hum .. .


har lamha soch soch kar ghabra jata hoon,
bite palo ko yaad kar tut jata hoon,
phir bhi pure ummid ke sath,
khare hain hum,
tere bagair jine lage hum,
Tere bagair jine lage hum....