A Wonder And A Wild

Sigh, I breathe in,
the drumming of my
heart, the beats are
the early devils,

prancing in the
woods and fire,
the hour divides
the lamentation
and cheer.

Sleep, the dreams
are corrupted.
The eyes open
in the new day.

There is no one
to shut the mouth
of the wolves.

There are traces
of shifting footsteps,
leaving myriad of
shapes, a wonder
and a wild.



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Like A Mainstream Song

I toss and turn, my bedsheet
is crumpled. The habit of no sleep
is like a mainstream song, with
repeated lines in the chorus, on
and on and on.



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Waltzing By The Shore

Waltzing by the shore, memories unfold.
I come back at the dock where I met you.
The tides and the painful sunset retold
all what we gathered, all the hurt we knew.
Our old ghosts loved tremendously, too loud.
A dosage of your caliber, I’ve kept.
After years of independence, I’m proud
to remember everything that you swept.
I have hidden a dark past from the start.
But you unlocked almost every door then.
I was stupefied when I’ve wrecked your heart.
Winter turned to a lonely summer when
too sudden I’ve lost myself in the wind,
too sudden our horizon faded, thinned.



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The Cover Of My Youth

The cover of my youth fades,
turning into a blank canvas,
a nothingness that began
with shades and hues of red,
yellow or blue, and some
intersected lines and shapes.
But every season when the trees
change its colors, and every
hour has a motion of good and
better, the cover of my youth
unhurriedly coming back. I’m
breathing the same air. I’m
walking passed the fields of
old barns and rice mills.



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On Benches And Hammocks

Sleep, town, sleep
on a tangerine, vintage

Fly away from the
dirty internet and
chronic radio.

To thousand books,
where eyes are hypnotized
by pages upon pages

of fantasies, of
dystopian, of contemporary

And sleep is no
more in my bedroom
of several dreams.

I contemplate outside
on benches and



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Morning Past The Hour Of Nine

Long hours, dry throat,
the idle eyes are about
to slumber.

Triggered mind, weak fingers,
the space of no one is the
scorching sun.

Howling traffic on  the
avenue, the wolves  of the
streets are alive.

Someone has solved
the math problems, someone
has failed to connect.

And your lies are
still served on a silver
platter, but I declined.



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She Is Not OKAY Today

She squats  in our dirty kitchen and says,
“This is the longest day of my life.”
I look at her, see the sad expression
in her eyes, the crushed spirit manifests in
the aura of her. Then, she starts
telling a story how everything is blown
out of proportion. She can’t please
everyone. She can’t be the music that
every ear wants to hear. She is not
OKAY today.



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