Felt.

Time stood still for nary a soul,                    
it dragged its feet, aching and old. 
Blistering heat that made us melt, 
we were once softer than silk felt.

Hallowed hearts wind whistled through,
covered in bruises, black and blue.
Hardly broken, but maybe bent,
running on empty and love spent.

There comes a day in all our lives,
when our failures cut deep as knives.
But you shall remain a triumph,
you stayed with me, like a science.

Words were whispered, curses, we'd shout,
until the blood drained from our mouths.
Yesterday—softer than silk felt;
seems like all we do these days is yell.

Trauma.

I found you unconscious,
foaming at the mouth.
Failed to resuscitate you,
before my screams filled the house.
You were more than my sister,
you were my confidante, as well.
And since you crossed over,
my life has been Hell.
At least we were together,
holding hands,
for a quarter of a century.
All I can do now is accept that
you are no longer here with me.

Three. Sixty. Five.

I -

Bones rattled and teeth chattered, 

like unwanted shrapnel from some unsavoury stew. 

Smiling whilst administering lethal injections 

that painted both our lips blue—

even Gestapo couldn't be callous like you.

II -

Cleansing rain falls from clouds 

onto my caterwauling heart, 

rescuing it from the extreme state 

where its mouth was blistered and parched. 

Today—I have been granted a fresh start.

III - 

Ablaze again; amazed, by the ways 

I have evolved into a better man. 

Not terracotta delicate but rather, 

resilient as rock. 

Baked but bathing in the beat 

of brilliant song.

IV -

Recycle, reuse, reduce, then rinse, 

and finally repeat. 

The regrowth that left me reborn 

buried itself beneath the Beeches,

and below the streets; 

a cycle come full circle and complete.

V -

With little visibility, 

all I could do was brave whatever lie ahead. 

When all falls down and failure reigns, 

remember even yeast rises again 

it can blossom into bread.

VI -

In the aftermath of my desperation—

once my sorrow's streams dried up like the Sahara. 

I wouldn't resign myself to monochrome. 

I could not surrender to Sepia! 

I opted to explode with vibrancy instead; 

raging reds, orange opulence, 

and you'll-never-forget-me yellows.

Equanimity.

Like the fog protects the sky,
I held you close, with watchful eye.
Incapable of enduring another loss,
as trees mourn leaves slain by the frost.

On bended knee, I gave myself to thee,
only canines know such loyalty.
Like petals perspiring with dew,
there can be no me without you, too.

So, I just dance like second hands,
that measure time, in all the land.
I am the key—you are my lock;
like lyrics in our lover's rock.

Us.

You and I were like Alexander and Genghis Khan—we conquered the entire world;
In your arms I was the oyster,
who proudly displayed his very first pearl.

You and I were giants—no match for Jack and his pitiful magic beans.
I gazed lovingly into your eyes; you were the golden goose of my dreams

You and I were Dostoesvky,
Dickensian when we talked.
But soon enough, we stopped listening,
and all we ever did was fought.

Remember when I was Shah Jahan
and I built you the Taj Mahal?
Your eyes despised it, soon enough,
and you demanded I add another wall.

Do you recall the times I tried to redeem myself with jasmine scented words?
Pretty soon all you did was chastise me
with your acid speech that burned.

You and I could've reached the top of Everest, but all you did was tear down my Great Wall.
I wanted you to be my empress, but you just wanted to watch my empire fall.

Now I am lost for words—my lips have been sealed and then sewn shut;
I just wish we could go back to you and I, instead of left questioning what is what.

when the dams burst, we will patch them up with words

"Tell me again, where is it you stop and the succubus begins? Why is it that once we separated we both ceased to exist?" A vanishing act, in two parts.

Act One: My pitiful proposal right in the middle of study circle was the first arrow to pierce your unfeeling heart. A feat more noble than neon on the periodic table. And you? If you were an element, it would be gangrene, the way you suddenly appeared and immediately created a crime scene. A biohazard more toxic and lethal than Fukushima. You radiated light, and at first glance I was blinded. Now that each individual shard of shrapnel has been plucked from my silver eyes, I see that you were nothing but nuclear. Once a dream within a dream, until you decayed and became a fucking nightmare within another godforsaken nightmare. Like those matronly Russian nesting dolls, but instead made up of demons, until there was nothing left but desolation.

Act Two: What happened to the wide eyed hopeful freshman that I met handing out pamphlets to save the rainforest or feed the world or whatever cause you'd attached yourself to at the time to make your human form seem believable. That same kid with the thick accent from East L.A. who arrived on a full scholarship to help inner city sweethearts avoid the inevitable—getting initiated into the first gang whose leader fell in love with her. I should've known the damage was already done and that you were the greatest con artist to wield a pen as a weapon. You seduced lovesick idiots from all walks of student life. Who knew future doctors, lawyers, and politicians could all be so easily swayed. Either way, you were a lost Latina princess who made men feel like one of your Latin Kings.

What happened to our heroine who refused to be branded like the cattle that would never be found on her plate. She was skilled in every recipe from cookbooks of anarchy. Who knew sometimes even soldiers sold out and became the same sheep they swore up and down 'til kingdom come that they would never be. The very sheep who required shearing and saving from a slaveowner who would rather refer to himself as a shepherd.

Behind the scenes a heavier battle was brewing...a conflict that was as deep as canyons grand, that had way too many layers. Our waxen eyed protagonist met his Waterloo in a spicy Puerto Rican seductress. Together, they personified academia, every interaction either ended with evacuated lecture halls or underneath ramen-noodle-stained-thrift-store-bargain-basement sheets. Spectators sighed at the sight of these star-crossed young lovers like modern day Montagues and Capulets. Together, they were an unstoppable machine.

Lovestruck or love's fools? The line between their overlapping identities faded with each day. They put blood, sweat and every last teardrop into the resistance. A revolution like no other, they claimed, that was the brainchild of their brilliance. As they grew closer, their separate clumsy heartbeats merged into one single thunderous rhythm. Surely nothing could come between a love that was united in humanitarian efforts.

By the time graduation robes neared, and colours reappeared across campus, the string that bound these altruists had started to come undone. Consumed by consumerism, a worldly woman in designer threads stood in place of our former rebellious lioness. As she appeared to be a phoney, her subjects rightly labeled her a fraud. Soon, her expensive appearance was a liability to their cause.

One black Friday between thunderstorms was when this War of the Rhodes' came to a halt; she turned away in anger only to be struck by his left lightning bolt. Electrified, and hurt as we reach the final breaths of real love, as it often ends. Only fairy tales wrap in happiness, why else would they appeal to us heartbroken humans.

What about healing, like we planted trees? What of the hospitals, where we pulled smiles out of the broken and the weak? What about the prisons, the detention centres unjustly holding refugees? Where did we stray, where did the love go? When did our own silence need to be bought with violence? What about orphans, widows left to starve in the streets? Where did we go wrong, to get here today? What about love, sweet love that doesn't end up settling in court? When can we return to peace and harmony? Unless we turn back, we won't have a pretty planet to watch on TV. If Satan's greatest con was convincing us he doesn't exist, isn't it time for us to accept we got ourselves into this mess?

Slain.

Let freedom ring, it reigns supreme.
Liberty's bell solely tolls for thee.
Red, white, and blue but only for you.
For me, red is the blood of my brothers and sisters you've murdered.
White, the ticket of privilege that buys you luxuries my melanin can't afford.
And blue? Blue is the police force that engages in brutality.
Its sole criteria for ending a life is colour.
I pray for the day there is no news of injustice.
No headlines about rapists who are freed whilst teachers are wrongfully killed.
Mama, when can we stop digging graves?
Help me understand when we stop being slaves.
Will we ever be saved?

There seems to be no end in sight to this crusade.

Is it reckless, are the riots in vain?

All that ever changes are the names of the innocents slain.

Father Figure.

Broken down, like cardboard boxes.
You break me down, it's poison; toxic.
No matter what I do I can't get over
you just give me the cold shoulder.

It's freezing. I'm Arctic cold.
You broke my heart of gold.
Shattered it like shards of glass,
had me crawling through crab grass.

The pieces; my pieces are all scattered.
You paint me with the same brush,
as the rest, like I don't matter.

I'm slipping away now,
like a cartoon banana peel.
Your words cut me with their logic,
though you're yet to ask me how I feel.

Granite countertops, and ceramic tiles,
fill our household, devoid of smiles.

They laughed and said 
I'm from a broken home, 
little did they know, I am all alone.

A father? I've only known daddies.
The ignorance hurts me quite badly.

You reached out, a single arm,
like it was a token of your chiseled charm.
This paint is dangerous, 
the asbestos in these walls cause me harm.

Daddy issues now, at nearly thirty,
make me feel defiled; dirty.

If I always had you, I would not rebel,
as though I have no clue.

Broken inside, bent exterior,
these gray walls can't hide my pain. 
Yet, you ebb and flow into my life
like the tide, after heavy rain.

I miss you, dad-you broke me down,
left me so confused.
I had no idea how I would
ever feel like anything but a fool.

I needed you; like the flowers need the sun,
but you shut me out, and broke me down
like I was not your son. 

So it's over now, there will be no refrain;
don't come crawling back again.
I can walk away, without a word,
I refuse to be your flightless bird.

Orlando Gloom.

There is no humanity 

when hatred prevails and reigns supreme,
when we are divided by our faith, 

dogma, race or community.

Our focus should be on 

the forty-nine innocent lives that were lost,
instead of whom to blame 

and which group we must accost.

When hatred takes over, 

ego is the sole reason a louse could feel like a man, 

arrogance ignored results in fools 

acting out their wicked plans.

Anyone who instills fear in others 

should be labeled as a terrorist,
it should not be reserved exclusively for 

that religion from the Middle East.

What difference does it make 

when families are bereaved, 

no amount of bleach could ever erase 

these tears or this blood from the streets.

Who would have thought a city filled with Disney magic 

could experience ugliness like this, 

if Mickey Mouse is not even safe 

then no one really is. 

The world is awash in mourning;
there is no humanity.
So we must look to the helpers to save us 

from being eaten alive by insanity.

Inhumane beasts like this creature, 

the byproduct of a corrupt society, 

are proof that ignorance untreated 

results in a false sense of piety.

For centuries, the battle between 

good and evil has been fought.
Today we learned acceptance is not innate 

and needs to be taught.

Take away their guns and weapons, 

let them wage wars with words;
it's said sticks and stones 

can break one's bones but never verbs.

It's evident now how desperately 

we need to make a change,
exclusion is not the answer 

as it only creates more rage.

Unless we learn to love 

and accept our fellow man, 

we will always be two steps behind, 

unable to accomplish all that we truly can.

Come together, right now—
as we mourn this immeasurable loss. 

When our safe spaces are targeted, 

everybody pays the cost.

He expected to put an end 

to the global community's pulse but failed.

All he accomplished was for our hearts 

to beat louder to show we have prevailed. 

Let us pray for the victims, before we ensure 

evil of this scale never occurs again; 

love will always be victorious
for only it can win.

Puzzling.

And he makes me want to carve myself.
Starving from extended winter,
I beckon to you with a finger.
Trembling; my veins fill with splinters.

Wooden slivers cut me from the inside,
I race towards any assistance.
Pressed, I pray for brooding brilliance.
Why do you play my ribs like piano keys.

Signal to you with smoky urgency,
peer into your zippered soul,
through magnifying glass eyes,
I catch you in action.

Hinting at the secret;
the secret code to my hunter heart.
You can access its emotion.
But do not tell the others.

Capture me in your net,
I beach myself on your bed.
You become the shore,
I slap at you lazily, like ocean.

Flowing, we crash into one another.
Resonate within me like cymbals.
I vibrate—cut me in two million pieces.
I win with my hands down.

Hold me in your clammy palm,
then blow me away, like dust.
Just let me scatter.
I yearn to know all the places!

No longer a mortar fortress.
Refined by this scandalous resilience.
These broken embraces can get so jumbled.
Shutter me. Forget my vulnerability anyway.

The Visit.

Silhouettes and photographs, 

through the graveyard, 

walking fast, 

Depression era screenplays, 

around the corner 

fudge is made.

Streets now broken

once were paved, 

dystopian playground 

that can't be saved

blasting off like 

rocketships, 

careful to mind 

broken hips.

Steadfast like masts 

on olden ships, 

chocolate cookies 

without the chips, 

a bust of a long 

forgotten mannequin, 

shares cobwebs and dust 

with lustful novels harlequin.

Pornography disguised as romance, 

good for nothing more than laughs, 

that once filled the room, 

then caked the walls;

the floral prints inside the hall.

Buttons strewn across the floor,

sensible spools of yarn,

and cutting boards,

I memorize ev'ry cracked tile,

one day, I will emulate her style.

When all things old are new again,

and I wish I’d paid closer attention.

Careless clouds of smoke 

billowed with each puff,

of her menthol cigarettes

that made me cough.

Murder mysteries flashed 

on the silver screen,

whodunits solved by 

faded beauty queens.

She relives her glory days,

filled with movie stars 

and runaways.

Yesterday always sounds so neat,

when she talks of brawls 

that spilled into the street.

The ruthless record player slows to a halt;

hair once fiery red is now pepper-salt.

Classically beautiful, 

reeking of sophistication,

a kiss placed on each cheek, 

I'm fascinated.

My connection to the golden age

closes the door, 

then waltzes away.

Unbeknownst to me,

this would be the last time,

I would sip mint juleps 

and drink sherry wine.

My fairy grandmother 

slipped away that night,

dancing off into the starry light.