And what do you know,
Look at here.
You see that book.
Grab it.
Read it.

It's covers are old. Dusty. Almost broken.
It's pages are yellow, almost ashen,
But it's letters are readable.

Just grab it.
Read it.

These type of books are the substance
For your mind.
If you feel hungry for knowledge,
Search for one,
Just like this one, here, have it.

Read it as if you were eating
Your favorite food.
Slowly, chewing and chewing,
Bit by bit, as if not wanting
Your food to ever finish.

Remember,

These sort of books with substance,
are what your mind needs.

Grab it.
Read it.

It's just a tear in my eyes,
That breaks my heart, and makes me sad

It's just this tear,
A tiny drop that falls like waterfalls,
Calm,
And then it gains currents,
Fast,
But it relaxes me as if were a lullaby.

I just want to cry,
And feel the stream moisten my skin,
I want to feel the salt in my lips,
As if I were in a beach, away from all of this.

love left me before I learnt to love
It was right there
at the touch of a fingertip

but I was afraid...

I kept pulling my hand closer to my chest.
And there, it rested on a grave.

May be the stars were out of my reach,
exactly how you used to preach
But their light guided my dreams

Do I feel what I write or do I write what I feel? I know that I write what I feel, but somewhere in between the lines, I feel what write, I just feel it to the point that I write what I feel.

There lays asleep, my lady of dreams,
Wake her up and help me dream,
But if by chance, she walks asleep
Don't wake her up, guide her towards me

I see the stars brightly shine,
I see the waves ebbing back,

So if you see her in her even'g gown
And if you see her in the shorelines
Don't wake her up, guide her towards me
Don't wake her up, else she'll scream in fear

Just guide her back into my life
Just guide her back into my path

But don't wake her up, or you'll disturb her dreams
Don't wake her up if she walks asleep
Don't wake her up unless she lays there asleep
Under the moonlight
Under a palm at the beach

Are you a thorn or are you not?
You sting my stress away with just a touch,
But also make my head to bleed a thought
that you and I belong as such...

as if we were some kind of rose.

Not long ago you said I was the stem,
the one from whom you fed and grew to show
that you and I belong as such....
as if we were some kind of rose





the one who feeds then grows and shows
The two of us ....

In progress..

under bed
a pillow
hides some tears

Somewhere in white pages, I lost you.
I call it your letters - boxes in the attic:
unread, unwritten.
Empty envelopes with a recipient,
And a sender, but with no content,
with no story, with no reminder
of us ever being together.

May be...
Someday... I'll be

something
or nothing
or a thing

I might pretend that I exist
and that I live in the present
never seeing the future
Not looking back at what it use to be

May be...
Someday... I'll

stay still

Two cents in pockets,
a cell, some cigarettes,
I was walking my way.

It was two a.m. in my dreams.
The boulevards where covered by dusk
and dust,
plus a scent of lust
perfumed
my skin

I kept walking,
head held high towards the moon,
Stepping the streets to the rhythm
of a peculiar tune,
Well known,
It was a Christmas carol,
the jingles and Bells,

"Where is santa Clause?"

Arrived soon at home.
To awake,

I am not deem to be a judge
Whatever I read
Screams back at me

And I can't tolerate the screams
They are too loud
For my ears to hear

thank you my God,
in you I trust with my heart, with my soul, and with my mind.

She was the kind to cook according to her moods
When she was happy, all her food tasted extremely good
But when sadness overthook her heart,
And when bitterness overtook her soul,
her cooking ability became sad,
And bitter ...

Plus she refused to eat any  more sadness in her life
Or any more bitterness

That all her cooking went

To waste

the sunset
stars the sky;
with darkness

The verses of eloquence
Are ladies well taught
They wear elegance
But simplicity is their gown

I breathe in. I breathe out.
I don't seem to understand life.
I'm sleepier than ever.
I crave a place to rest.
But I'm young. Younger than most.
Yet I feel old. Tired.
Rusty of living. But I'm happy.
I'm content with what I have.
I have Nothing yet everything I need.

Though sometimes I crave more
of what I don't need,
For instance, more sleep.
But I had enough, I should awake
And live my life

For out there, there is a place to enjoy.
And I have everything I need,
Yet nothing to lose.

What am I waiting for?

To know the truth
it's as if not knowing it at all,
it only hurts,
it aches
but at least we know
what's going on

because the truth is
Like a knot around our necks,
meant to be unknotted,
to allow us to breathe

May be, I am this book on my lap?
the one I usually close to nap.
Then I awake to open it again
but its content makes no sense
Then it does, later, it does not...

May be, I am this pen on my hand?
The one I always seem to understand
whenever I write my ideas down.
It feels like we are fully synchronize
except when its ink runs out...

May be, I am the sofa where I sit?
The one that's quiet and usually doesn't quit
it keeps on holding someone else's weight
Until the weight becomes too much
And then it breaks...

May be, I am just a human like everyone else?
The one that's feels a certain way
but the way she feels
It's not justified by the way she lives
Yet still, she feels like this....

And she doesn't know

Why?

a dark cloud
storms rivers
with raindrops

And so my will,
It's the captain and I'm the ship

It guides me out of turbulent seas
It leads me towards peaceful seas

Or with me it sinks.

When the moon arrives and sets above my head
I feel a lightbulb turns on bright with light ideas
Then they begin to expand like stars that spread
All over the universe To illuminate
a path that leads towards a verse
that I will read then write
before going to bed

When the storms cease to be
When the rain comes to greet the ground
by halting without a warning from the sun
When the wind becomes a breeze
and not a tornado in flames
You’ll come to meet us lord

written in the sky
is my name a star
blinking from afar

This anger
Angers me more
than the anger I felt
while being angered
Yesterday

It's just that this anger in me
Consumes the anger of yesterday
Plus it feeds
Upon the anger of my yesteryears.
It just grows and grows,
While feeding and devouring,
the angers I felt
in my past

It intensifies
yet it digests the leftovers
from my past angers.

It does.

But even worst,
This anger of mine
Never sleeps
It just feeds and grows,
At all times.

It's a glutton, right?

Poetry is not about how well you rhyme
or how good your rhythm is.
It's somehow similar to life,
in the sense that you just live like this:

           Not knowing what it is.
           Yet searching for bliss,
            we live just to live
           With or without a motive

The same goes with poetry
We don't know what truly is.
Yet searching for bliss,
We write just to write
With our without a motive

flowers in a crown
people gathered round a plaza
a lady stands out

If you are going to do anything
Do it without regrets
Don't think about it twice
But if you do, then don't do anything.

Bright, bright, stars,
that visit the sky with lights,
without you, my nights,
would be nothing but dark

And full, full, moon,
that comes every once,
without you, I'd be soon,
a lonely lagoon

I'm hunched over pain
trying to straighten my spine

but on the desk, I got
too many problems to solve
and a brain that has lost
all of its spark

I was once on top of my marks
...
Don't know, how I lost my marker.

May be Alzheimer's
is horse riding my back,
pushing me
Closer to death'a
finishing line?

poetry
You pull out of me Wisdom
As if I were a wisdom tooth.
And you?
the dentist who pulls me out
to become
Who I'm truly meant to be

Not another cavity in the mouth of earth that causes pain

Can I tell you something?

I search for the sun rise in these waves of life
in this still waters that sometimes
become turbulent with the winds

I search for some oxygen
some life to breathe in me

I search for an island; a place to land
and find some peace

I've been floating and swimming, and often diving deep deep down
in oceans and oceans
that drown the me in them

I come to the surface
but it's always the same
So I search for the sun rise

To admire it
and just lose myself
in its glowing
rays

Me and you
In the road of over here is now
And in the intersection
Of over there is later
Just walking
Following that road
Not crossing the intersection.

the day feels heavy on my boots,
one step, lifted leg, mud, grass tall,
a puddle,

I'm doing what I was doing
When I stopped doing what I was doing
So doing what I was doing
Will help me do what I stopped doing

And subsequently,
I will be doing what I should have not stop doing

That is, write poetry.

somewhere
there is a voice dictating what I should write
One that is loud when emotions
wrestle in my chest
but turns soft or almost non-existent
when I feel null

Oh heavens high, where are you now?
I searched for you within the clouds
I found some gates but of airlines
that only took me for a flight
then came to land me on some ground


Oh heavens high, where are you now?

a monkey
mocks people
with his tail

I'm a plant, aren't I God?
I always seem to extend my faith
towards the light

As if my faith were branches,
trying to reach you
wherever you are,

It's just growing and growing,
Becoming greener and greener,
But too green
to fully understand
that the drier One gets, the easier
One burns with the fire of hell

The waters of the seas I wandered in,
seemed calm, the shores sounded peaceful,
I yearned to walk in their sands.

But I floated between waves that lulled me into sleep,
And I floated between waves that moved me into tears,

But now, I know I have deviated from my path
I must searched for a northern star
I need to be guided
onto the right path

And for that,
I mustn't walk on the sands of the shores I once yearned to walk.

Can I tell you something?

I dislike planning.

Whenever I plan, things don't go accordingly.
Plus, with the whole concept of planning,
I immediately force myself to expect
an outcome. And as many of you know,
expectations, if don't met, can hurt.
Does this phrase sound familiar:

"Never expect anything in return".

But why are we so afraid of getting hurt?

As far as me goes, I am not afraid of getting hurt and experiencing
disappointment because disappointment (if handled correctly, with a positive view) can help an individual grow.
It can make a human become down-to-earth because it constantly remind us that all of us are humans and thus are perfectly imperfect.

Then why is it that I dislike planning?

Dear God,

Through my guardian angel
Send to me the knowledge
Send to me the cure
That I may hear within its whispers
How to achieve peace

the sun once told me
how the ocean evaporated for him
how the birds flew right under him
how he energized the flowers and trees
how pretty much the world revolved around him
but how he wished
to feel at least a quarter of the warmth he so constantly gives

a dog barks
woo woo woof!
to women

While walking for a long time, I saw a field with roses,
All sort of roses,
Colorful, whites and pinks,
And reds,
And all sort of roses,
With and without thorns,
And I, mesmerized by their beauty, stopped my walked

Right into the garden of roses,
To meet love,
To meet the love that'll inspire me to live
To meet the love that'll be the fuel to help me keep walking.

From arrows
hangs my heart;
feeding crows

He pedal till the petals fell...
Everyday, he'd pedal to his yard
To water the plants and make the greens stand out
But ever time he came to his yard
He watered the plants
But he never saw behind his back.

Thus he pedal till the petals fell
And until then
While looking at the road,
He saw the petals and realized
that I was the flower on his back.

His life.

If by chance my lord you hear me,
Please, help me think clearly,
Help my heart feel ease
Help my mind feel at peace
Help my soul connect with both
yes, with my heart and mind, with both

And if by chance dear god you hear me,
Help me be at peace,
Clear my thoughts from unwanted thoughts
Yes, my lord purify my body and soul.

I could become a pen and lay in a desk forever,
I could wait hidden in a drawer and wait there forever,
but what's the use of being a pen?

Sometimes I wonder...

Is it fair to remain in one place until the ink dries,
until there's nothing else in me
that could leave a mark anywhere in the world?

Is it fair to be in one place until someone comes looking for me,
Until with me
that someone could leave a mark anywhere in the world?

Though at times I ponder...

Why can't I just be the person who holds the pen?

And then I think,
I will suffice with just being like a pen.

The clear sky
clouds the mind
with daydreams