Latiaaa

Latiaaa May 2014

The impact you give on her,
was never to me.
With me,
it was a cold sharp blazer against rough skin.
With her,
lavender touches her skin as you wrap your arms around her.
I was treated half.
The end of the stick.
Where's the passion, the care, the worrying and despair?
Where was the love?
I pulled the rope with my teeth while you played the violin easy.
Unfair.
I didn't see my name plastered for eyes to wonder,
I was hidden.
She gets boasted like an award ceremony.
Where were the communications when you needed them?
I was stuck back against the chalkboard,
writing my own scripts on how to love.
Where’s my recommendation?
She drinks the blood,
while I was bone dry.
My heart tackles the anger and grudge against you.
Why was I treated the old ***** tire,
Not the diamond?
The broom wasn’t good enough,
so you took the mop instead.
I’m drained,
tired.
I’ve trudged the heavy load,
It wasn’t easy.
I don’t get enough for what I do.
Didn't even say,
"I love you."

Latiaaa May 2014

Death is a blanket

Oceans of waters dancing naked to the horizon beyond the sight none along with around, only the eternal sun rays dimly reflecting towards the heavenly sky, on this mysterious mystic level, death floats, only conscious of its being, super sufficient needless nimble numb, he takes a voyage unknown infinite from a definite point, and takes pleasure inward that there is no end, it is like missing from the materials and becoming a being of anti-dialectic, an absolute free entity.

Latiaaa May 2014

Peace

Why fight, when you can make peace?
Just add some butter on it, and you have yourself a nice piece of peace toast.

Latiaaa May 2014

PICKING UP PEBBLES

To write
to write one's life
is to take a road that leads nowhere
and yet parallels the totality of one's existence

To write one's life
is to evoke a silhouette
that of the writer rushing through his past

One cannot tell where he is going
as he detours diverges deviates
but that is why we want to follow him

Along the way like a lost traveler
he picks up pebbles from the ground
and stuffs them in his pockets

As he gropes backward he loses himself
but we are willing to be disoriented with him
willing to be lulled by his vain repetitions

Stranded in time with him
we lose ourselves in space with him
and yet everything holds in place underneath
as if pulled by a magnet

All that was absent
forgotten from his life
is now suddenly present again

Latiaaa May 2014

Road

And if I told my story to myself ?

It is true that along the rocky story
I often stumbled, and when I fell
I would get up saying to myself
that no one had seen me, and I
would continue saying to myself,
it was an accident, and I set out
again, hobbling along, saying,
it's okay, the fall was not a fall,
the rocks were not rocks, and even
if some bystanders laughed at me,
others encouraged me, saying that
I had a beautiful story in me, and
that I had to tell it, even if to myself.

Latiaaa May 2014

Dancing in the dark

The problem
with this poem
is that
it needs
light
to be read.

light:
daylight
candle-light
electric light.
sun light.

One can dance
in the dark
one can sing
in the dark
one makes
love
in the dark
but this poem
cannot be read
in darkness
that is perhaps
its greatest
weakness.

Latiaaa May 2014

Explain

Explain why you destroyed me and now want to control me. Explain that.