Look, friend Jane, for a wishing star
stuck in the sky like a dime in tar;
Tell that star what you won't tell mother,
tell what we tell, only to each other.

Wish star,
wish star,
Imhotep and Ishtar,
Nile crocodile keep this secret safe!

Oh, friend Jane, tell me what did you wish?
swear on a little finger, seal with a kiss;
meetcha by the rail fence, meetcha by the moon,
mother make the evil eye when she sees you.

Wish star,
wish star,
Imhotep and Ishtar,
Nile Crocodile keep this secret safe!

Now, friend Jane, I know what you said,
mother's at the bottom of the stairs stone dead;
moon on the pond water, stars in the sky,
mother's eyes are open but she's blind, Jane, blind.

11:11
make a wish
something i’ve said since i was a kid

“what’d you wish for?”
the same question always asked
“i bet you wished for…”
the guesses flood in

“an A on the test”
“money in your pocket”
“for —— to like you”

i laugh and chuckle
if only they knew
i wish for one thing
it’s always the same

for the aching pain to go away
for the agony to cease
for me to have one night where my brain is at peace

i just want a break
for my breathing to maybe cease
and for my body to be at peace

but you can’t tell them that
if you say it
your wish won’t come true
so i just say
“for me to have back the boy i once knew”

11:11
make a wish

Memory has wings
flies faster
than the person thinks-

memory the chronicler
of every person's
struggle and endeavour-

memory the Pandora's box
the owner dares not open
in fear of the shocks!

Memory, the tears-bearer
the woe of jilted lovers
who vow not to love ever-

memory --
not the teacher
but the tormentor-

memory--many will declare:
life would be much happier
if it were not there!

Love me
or hate if you will
I'm a Zen person
I stay calm and still

If you ask me,
How are you doing?
I’ll smile,
Tuck the truth behind my teeth,
and say
“I’m fine.”
But if you pause,
look me in the eyes,
and ask again,
“No, how are you really doing?”
I might just tell you…
I’m tired
of living in a world where my worth
is measured in paychecks and productivity.
Where rest feels like guilt,
and ambition, a cage with velvet lining.
I am overwhelmed.
Buried in deadlines,
chasing dreams that leave blisters on my feet,
because I know what I want for my life
and I know it won’t come cheap.

Love?
I flinch at the thought.
Not because I haven’t loved,
but because I’ve inherited the heartbreak
of women who taught me to be cautious,
to hold back,
to never let it all in.
I keep my guard up
steel walls around a soft heart.
And truthfully?
I’m exhausted from the weight of my own armor.
But letting it down feels
too risky.
Too unsafe.
Sometimes,
I sit with the bitterness
of how much I give,
and how little I get in return.
And I wonder,
Is this what “hard work pays off” looks like?
I lie.
To others.
To myself.
I say I’m open,
say I’m healed,
say I’m ready
when love still terrifies me.
I’ve broken down this year
not once,
not twice,
but in silent nights
when nobody was watching.

And I hate that I question people’s motives,
not because I want to doubt them,
but because I have to.
Because trust is no longer my first language.
So yes…
You might ask, “How are you?”
And I’ll still smile.
Still nod.
Still say,
“I’m fine.”
Not because I am
But because,
honestly,
I don’t even know where to start.

i want to stare at your beauty as i doze
be absorbed by your aura and natural pose
as light forms and dances around your creases
undress your eyes and trace you as it pleases
i'm moody eyed, she's well intense
i wish i could lay next to you, i'm envious
the shadows casting themselves over cheeks
jealous of the sun that ignites your senses
wishing to taste cherry lips, drawn in your radiance
the delight of your rapture
casts a wave over me
a tsunami of emotion,
of pure unrivalled passion

We blame the night for being scary,
But the people who sleep blaming it,
Never felt sorry.
It’s never that dark to truly call it night—
We just need excuses to hide.
We hate the beautiful morning,
Wishing it were night again…
Yet when night comes,
I close my eyes to sleep again.

This sound,
like a friendly wind,
walking through
my lost memories
from irreversibility,
from the cold reality
of indifference
returning to fulfilling promises
as an answer to my invocation

A unique, sweet sound
is calling me now,
after twenty-five years.
I bought that ticket,
sitting in my narrow seat,
holding in my hand
a piece of uncertainty
that deforms
every time I get on board.

I used to take so many trains:
traces, luggage, running passengers,
waiting, wasting minutes.
They brought me,
step by step,
station by station,
to this voice,
to this tone of being,
in tune with silver threads.

The windows are yet closed.
I carry in my cells
the code of Alef,
a crystalline illusion.

The lens caves in
and swells outward,
seeing the elusive past
still living in me,
playing under a different sun,
through elusive existences.

We came as twenty-one souls.
Twenty I found.
One was lost—
the one closest
to my breathing truth.

The final deal:
Am I losing
or will I rest
in deeper words?

Yes.
I did it for you,
changing alternative worlds,
pulsing around me,
invitations not accepted.

I open the gate
to a new home:
to warmth,
to creativity,
made by sweet recognition
of blooming Fall to come
waiting patiently
for your move
for your not-yet-published story.