sonnets

your language
is a giant monument—
stood remarkably,
audibly beautiful for
our ears.

2021

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tender

in many days of my external silence,
i have not killed the noise internally.
there is a heart aching without the moon.
there are eyes crying at the flash floods of noon.

2021

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Volume

This is not an episode of hate.

If you can’t speak what is right,
just keep it to yourself.
And don’t delight bad things
in your mind.

Our hearts speak volume
of different representations.

My hands write poetry
of different angsts and anxiety,
cheer and solidarity, red or yellow
or blue, lemonade, fire, or kazoo.

2021

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Pie In The Sky

One hand holds
a glass of ice, the other
holds a plate of rice.
The mouth is about
to feast, but the room
turns black, and everything
disappears.

2021

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The Boundary

Tell me more, but you won’t.
I’d like to ask more questions,
but now I won’t.

Your gestures, your curls,
the shirt in your imagination,
all but left them forlorn.

The wind is the same wind
that carried us to this
nocturnal boundary.

2021

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Dystopia

The drinking mouth
has gone to summer woods.
Not letting its tongue utter
verbs and adjectives.

2021

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mourning

we lose some, we lost a lot.
the past is gone, the now is pain.
we cried, and we cry again.

2021

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The Emblem

It’s not the fall of man.
Neither the
case of inferiority.
They rise to the occasion

Like sturdy eagles’ wings.
Painting their red blood on every wall,
Chanting a local song.

The skies turn blue.
The sun sparks in yellow.
The tombstones of their grandfathers
Are washed out, turning to white.

Night arrives like an unbridled horse,
Galloping under the three stars
Unhidden by clouds.

Freedom at last.
They find gratitude to their God.

2021

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gauche

clumsy are your body
movements like a dance on
a stage, not graceful, not
flawless.


your mind speaks of
cluttered dishes in the
kitchen, turning the floors
into a war of many things.

2021

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plum cake

you paraphrased
your angry statement
and it tasted like a true
plum cake.

2021

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