We never found
tragedy in one
another.

-k.w

I love days like today—
when flowers are
being pressed
between the crinkled
pages of my
notebook, and
blades of grass are
sticking to
my bare feet.
I'm humming a line
from a song
I can't remember
the name of,
and the sun is
peeking through the
space between my
blinds.

And I can't help
but to feel alive
when I'm marveling
over all that's
surrounding me.

-k.p

Night,
I love you
like a bride
loving her body,
the madman
the desert,
like the horse
loves its shadow,
the sad the lighthearted,
I love you like
a wanderer his ballad,
a poet his dark room,
like the moon.

There was a depth
In your eyes
A dimension undiscovered
I guess that's what I wanted
There was an over exposure
To the depth of your heart
And the cruelty of man
Indeed the man
For I've never seen a woman
Do such a thing
But perhaps it's my expirience only
And perhaps it was not
What you intended
Perhaps there are lessons
To learn as to why
You continue to appear
In the depths of my mind
After all these months
I still have no peace
Not from you
However I have made peace
With not having you
Giving up sends me
In to the deepest end of the pool
Ironically there's nothing
Nothing else to do
Than to give up.
So then what?
Should I believe
In fairy tales?

The whispers never tell me
What to think but rather
Ask me questions
Untill I find the right answer.

*In to the Valley of Death rode the six hundred

When the sun and the moon
Collide in the sky
When blood drops,
Are the only tears I cry
When snow flakes
Fall in the middle of June
When the sound of silence
Remains the only tune
When the fish sprout wings
And fly from the sea
When the only thing standing
Are petrified trees
When the sky loses its color
And is no longer blue
That, my sweet, is when
I'll stop loving you

In this layered darkness,
deaths are mere numbers
carelessly scribbled on
a blackened wall, unnoticed.

Grief is left out in the open
like orphaned children,
no one bothered to count
as it has no significance.

Isn't it  meaningless
as darkness festers still.

Every war claimed won,
leaves behind heaps of
mutilated corpses, that
in nightmares of living,
get up and walk speaking in tongues
with blood letting bodies falling apart.

So many concealed graves are
camouflaged, hidden from the eyes
of the people,whose time is precious
to waste  for such things as war crimes.


But these blackened graves break
the hearts of countless families,
where laughter dies for ever,darkness stalks.
Faceless loved ones of the killed,
widows and children uncontrollably cry,
cursing their lives  for this walk through the dark.

Every love life is an invisible bound book,
of many stories of pain, recounted in tearful details,
not easily erased, but much more lives are forgotten,
like cattle killed during long season of celebration,
when people eat, drink, and make merry till they faint,
sleep long hours to sedate their consciousness heavy
with guilt for what they do repeatedly, remorseless.