the world today truly has become
the global village once predicted
by McLuhan 50 years ago

it took three decades longer
than he had thought
but now we have
all real time developments at our fingertips

Trump talks to Putin and Duterte & cetera
and we know about it
right afterward thanks to his tweets
that land on our mobile phones

suicide bombs exploding
in Damascus Baghdad Gamboru Kabul
hit us on our social media right away

so does the news about a bus
that fell into a gorge
     all 65 passengers killed
     somewhere on the globe

or of the cat caught in a sewer pipe
rescued by these brave firemen

little of all of that
adds to our understanding of the universe
or might be relevant to our lives

a bit more positive reporting is in order

at best served as sensational
as the bad news
     that keeps us occupied
yet more important for our daily lives
than all this hype about
the danger and the devastation that
     possibly
     or not
may happen if
soandso does suchandsuch

at times I contemplate
if it is better to be out of touch
and not to care about the news
so very much

And if you are to love,
Love as the moon loves.
It doesn't steal the night,
It only unveils the beauty of the dark.

And if you are to love,
Love as the rain loves.
It doesn't wet the bodies,
It only washes the sad dirt of the souls.

And if you are to love,
Love as the wind loves.
It doesn't drift away,
It only cleanse you to the core by invading through each pore.

And if you are to love,
Love as the sun loves.
It doesn't radiates heat,
It only pours its warmth on you to enlighten your way.

And if you are to love,
Love as the star loves.
It doesn't delightfully twinkles,
It only reminds you that not even death can separate two hearts.

And so forth,
if you are to love
Love as the whole universe
& not just a part of it.

And on the final day,
I watched the flames
lick up my words.

I set them all ablaze;
none of them
made you
stay.

I'm
   Not
           A
              Poet
                    I'm
                           A                                                                    Experiences
                                Believer                                                  My
                                              Of                                      And
                                                  Writing                 Feel
                                                             About        I
                                                                      How

you promised
we would
meet each other
one day.
we would go
crab fishing
and drink some wine,
looking at the sunset
a little bit drunk
on the sandy beach.
smelling the salty air.
it was just empty words.
meant everything to me,
and nothing for you.
I am just a bunch
of flowers you
got tired of
watering.
hanged me on your
wall, my flower soul
dried like a desert.
dead from all the promises
you made.
beautiful but forgotten.
and it was so
simple for you
to just buy a
new bunch
of flowers.

thinking of days as kisses
so everyday is like a kiss;
think of night as mystery
so every night is a mystery

do you seriously think
you can determine your life

plan all your moves
avoid poisonous strife

reach all your goals
without devious grooves

by the time you have reached
those goals you have preached

you may be quite old
remembering how  bold
you were

and how coldly determined
on what you‘ve been sold

We leave etches, imprints within those
                 when we relinquish
                                 our mortal form.
For every breath we took
               is still carried on the wind.
       Every word is still voiced,
                 echoes of our time
                 brush against your face.

But even though we are just a breeze
                                            in the wind.
We can still touch upon
                     that imprint.
Showing that even though
         were no longer here.
         you breath in our memory.