Wednesday, September 12, 2018

Yearns&Pins

I'm nowhere in your library, obviously
Nowhere in your gallery
A riddle that stood the test of seasons
Your glorious temple bear not my name
Sir, why, from your songs I draw my inspiration
You are the talk of our village
The muse of our cottage
Yet I know not your visit
Your face is a mystery, only imaginary
Your being everywhere but in my hut is a grievance
In vain have I reached out with my longing hands many a times
Am I too much a hold, sir?

Sunday, September 9, 2018

This Must Be It

So this is it?
The thought I've been feeding since day one
Of who would get here first
Of who would upturn this eerie quest
The end I've been dying to begin
This must be it, this must be it

Don't Die Tomorrow

Don't die tomorrow
There are still smiles to sip
Miles to treat
There are still hearts to break.
Don't die tomorrow
There are still nights to love
Lovers to keep
There are still stars to give.
Rather die tonight
There's coffee for company
Poetries to sing
There are wounds needing to heal

Tuesday, September 4, 2018

Ain't the End

This is ain't the end,
Who knows how far it stretches
How lively it aches
This is for my friend whose face I'd rather forget
Whose memory is so stubborn
This is for my comrade who's lost his pulse
Whose world he thinks a hybrid curse, black&white
I say, keep the fight, keep eyes on the cause
Call it not the pause, one step forward leads there
The gods aren't fair, you say
The night came to stay
Think not of sex and hunting love
It'll end, the night will end unknowing
Think not of coulda-been's
If anything, look not at him

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

M-Y F-A-T-E

Photo by Isai Ramos



Yours is love
I long to hear
Within the rattling droplets of midnight rain
The kind I read in blue skies
And the music of the spheres
And the harmonious pulse of our hearts
Time's inconceivableness, we conceive like open petal
The light that transcends my soul
Underneath the walls, you swept your way inside
Is it true that I shall sing your name
I on the flute or the trumpet or inanga
Somewhere it will ring like heaven
It has to be your hand that will lift me up to the sun
That will write my good days
And I who shall spell them
As M-Y F-A-T-E
I who shall dance to celebrate
It is I who shall outlive my fears
My death and the dark days that are stained on my pillows
That are sprayed in the afterglows of my room
It is you who will share my shrubbed house