If I could gather all the stars,
And place them in a bowl,
If I could capture a sunset
And frame it for your wall.
If I could scrape off sunlight's glow,
That kisses the green grass,
Blend the mixture gently,
And serve it in a glass.

I would, I would,
A thousand times or more,
To bring you closer to the beauty
Of all you're longing for.

We live in the sunshine of our broken loves,
Where window curtains flow like pouring water from the aqueducts.

Sunlight is the memory of an old world, and we are just
Watchmakers who labor at the trumpets of time
As if to blow from the mouthpiece and unwind
The second hands and derelict hours of our luminous grief.
So too shines the scintilla of frost that covers the ancient wheat,
Snow falls like the listenings of lovers in the dark, and we are just
Cartographers of snowflakes, mapmakers of frozen eyes,
To zone the parallelogram of her strands of hair across the sky.

These and these and these
Were never ours.

"I have a hundred photos lined up to be posted.
I edit them, I think about them, and I let them be.
I let them be in my gallery for the right time.

And the right time never comes.

Days become months, and months at times turn into years.
But the right time never comes.

I don't know why!

But it is alright!

It is alright because I am not in a race, nor am I in a hurry to tell my story.
I don't mind waiting at the stop like this bus.
I don't mind being forgotten about
Or just not talked about for days.

But I, in my own way, after making those stops, I will carve my road ahead.
Uncover the true beauty of my story
In the most unusual way.
Just like how sunlight lights up a simple road and makes patterns with the help of shadows.

Shadows have their own ways.
Shadows glorify those pretty rays.

Clouds passing over

the sun give life to the floor --


it breathes up and down.

on soft twilight mornings
when the world
still sleeps soundly
the blackbirds singing
their daily sermon
i stretch lazily
the crisp sheets a shroud
i feel the warmth
of the sweet summer sun
kissing my back
and i smile
knowing that you had once
done the same.

Today's sunlight will forever be my eternal darkness

We are
Different fingers
Of the very same hand.
We are
Born pure,
Then forgotten.
I am the flowers
And the river.
Mother Nature—
What can I give her?
She is all I cannot be.
She is all I once was.
The children of men
Have twisted her personage
Until her portrait no longer
Is recognizable.
The children of men
Have twisted themselves—
Trains, cars, factories!
Nothing but awful galleries
Of memories, a eulogy
For the truth, the natural way.
And yet, it all runs through us.
Like our blood, and the breeze
And the sunlight’s dappled stream,
Like a rope, but not a chain,
Sustenance, our meat and grain.
It is One, and we are It.
We are One, and separate.

I settle on a seat distant from the world and my life
Here I observe the souls of those overcome with strife  
Settling on a bench sheltered with fallen flowers
from the shivers of trees recovering from nighttime terrors
Red plaid shorts damp beneath me
A book sprawled open on my lap watching with pure envy
as my eyes trace a phrase my mind is quickly trapped in
"its the truth even if it didn't happen"
I experience the sun blaze its rays down onto my thighs
Drawing crimson marks with my nails, I analyze
There's a strange sense of comfort in the burning sensation
The fear of not knowing what to expect consumes my self isolation
The unknown lingers in my mind, crimson now engrossed
I can always trust that the sunlight will never stop sizzling sunburnt skin
So instead of cursing the pain, I find it sublime
for it is the most secure I've felt in a long time