A wonder a day's old is old
For today's a greater wonder yet
Without asking without knowing
Given if gifted to accept

A vine grafted to ancient roots
Drinks deep beneath the rocky earth
A child tasting strange unknown foods
Knowing not father nor mother

Ever filled with songs ever new
Awakes the dawn with song unsung
From sights seen winged beyond the stars
And joy's complete when mysteries known

Accepting that made not with hands
Needs knowing the Mind not of flesh

i wish that i could lose your number,
wish i didn't know you exist.
if i could just lose your number,
maybe i'd never have to feel like this.

if i didn't know that you love me,
i might not be feeling so sad.
and when you say things to hurt me,
i could walk away and never look back.

So, I wish I could just lose UR Number,
Wish I didn't know you exist...
And if I could just lose ur Number,
I Wouldn't have ta Feel  like this.

Poems, sonnets, haikus, odes, songs, prose;
every one of them are trapped in a little black box—
a pen, the only key that unlocks my heart for everyone.

A box teeming with all my pains in it;
secrets or lies? There’s an eternity in that box- all my
verses are in it; some remain locked till the inevitable
death of another disregarded poet.

Oh, my little black box; filled with thoughts-
your love is less;- in an honest jest; laughing at most
of my secret ideas— ones far from their best, further less.
Writing something to forget as something less;
pieces I beget as children; I leave them so fatherless.

                                  Trapped in that little black box!

Why does pain create the most beautiful songs, the most passionate poems and the lifelong eternal bonds?

Don't be a prisoner of your past
Like a fallen yellow leaf
With no song, no fire

Be like the enchanting nature
That celebrates life with
The new dawn, new sun rise
Birds melodies, blue skies
Smiling flowers, green grass
Fresh air, dancing butterflies
Twinkling stars
And evolving moon

Hussein Dekmak

When I saw you alone,
I was standing alone.
I walked over alone.
I asked if you wanted
To be alone together.

Your body feels good lying next to mine,
Though I know it's all I'll get tonight.
Gee, your body feels good next to mine.
I wonder, wonder who's on your mind.

Did he leave you alone,
Or did you leave him alone
Like she left me alone?
I asked if you wanted
To be alone together.

Your body feels good lying next to mine,
Though I know it's all I'll get tonight.
Gee, your body feels good next to mine,
So warm and cozy this lonely night.

Do you think he's alone?
I don't think she's alone.
She doesn't care if I'm alone,
So I asked if you wanted
To be alone together.

The breeze moves the curtains.
It carries whispers like fingers
Across barely touching skin.
We don't care, and we won't care
Until we care again.

Your body feels good lying next to mine,
Though I know it's all I'll get tonight.
Gee, your body feels good next to mine.
I wonder, wonder who's on your mind.

Your body feels good lying next to mine
Though I know it's all I'll get tonight
Gee, your body feels good next to mine
So warm and cozy this lonely night.

Is a poem not just a song
with rhyming verse
that’s not yet sung?

With repeated chorus
not yet stuck
inside one’s head,
amongst the muck?

Is a poem not just a song?
A daisy chain of verse
not yet strum

around a fire
among some friends
deep in the woods
on away weekends.

Is a poem not just a song
not yet proclaimed
by a choir’s tongue?

But uttered silently
in a bed-lamp’s light
at early hours
of the night.

Is a poem not just a song
that peacefully rests
in black ink upon

a white page
inside a book,
upon a library shelf
until it’s took?

Is a poem not just a song
quietly set to lips
that read along

on a train,
on the way back home
from visiting gran
for tea and a scone?

Is a poem not just a song
unset to keys
and not yet begun?

Not yet major,
and not yet minor.
Just metered in beats
and little other.

Is a poem not just a song?
I suppose it could be
but not this one.

Listening to your silence, I heard:
Songs and prayers
Tranquility and music
Tears and smiles
Laughters and cries
Despair and hope
Sorrows and joys
Loathing and longing
Passion and peace
Whispers and loud voices

Hussein Dekmak

The songs of that time

were our world, the places where --


we saw each other.

on moonlit nights
concrete beds and
pillows of flora sing
songs

empty cold winds beg
company

starlight's wingspan
warm, maternal
and cooing that shares that
macabre bedtime fairytale love

a silence that has become
a wool-knit cap of late
hours,
smoke,
bitter drink

an excuse really,
for desperate wandering
and the freedom to stand still
pacing stagnant

shallow grey rainwater neighbor waves
nods

the choice, holistic,
to breathe and live
or sigh and think,

be a man--
adult--
problem-solve;
industrial

untrimmed grass,
the words of a friend
the gate's rusted

repeat a tired fantasy tune
with all the time in the world,
just enough to waste
to search for answers or for self

bundle up
the alarm is set.