Drawing Breath

The sun does down,
the moon dips.
The clouds scatter
while the birds
chase trees to sit.

The rivers tell a tale
of how fast they run.
The roots never whine
of being under and done.
The flower blossoms,
the soil gets stronger.
The winds race
and the hills embrace.

What’s left is how
they choose to grow.
What matters is how
unready they take the fall.
Unexpectedly, there’s more to come.

So rise with gratitude
only to fall without a sigh.
So be yourself
and imitate
the nature’s way of life.

Wicked Masks We Wear

How’s the pain?
The gain.
The vain.
Of trying,
maybe not.
Of failing,
but how?

What a wicked mask to wear.
Another right you make wrong.
You’re done
maybe then.
You’re here
sometimes then?

Thanks to you
you’ve come this far.
Struggling for breath
fighting the scars.
Don’t let them stay.
Never mistake its charm.
For it is what it is
that’s how you’ve learned to calm.

. . .

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Uninterruptible Awakening

Uninterruptible awakening
the clarity has made
our wisdom go dark.
What was yesterday
will be our tomorrow,
but what’s today
is the purest moment we have.

Don’t let what frightens
you let you sleep
you must stay awake.
Forge your name
with tears and blood
until your veins feel lost.

Tired is for the weak
haven’t you heard them scream?

Surviving comes easy,
but this feels forced
you feel trapped
and you don’t
find your reality.

. . .

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Complete The Circle

Expression I have long considered mortal and short-lived.
I have craved withdrawal from myself as much as
I have struggled to contract my wants.

Now, I demand the pictures that frame me small.
I draw from the imagination that forces me to see the truth.
Pure everything till my ends allow.

I choose to complete the circle.
Not because I’m alone, angry, or powerless.
Because the things that once existed no longer fit to make me brave.

It is the beginning of the end of my romance.
I drown with a raging desire for fantasy
with a reality that doesn’t understand my love.

A love so kind and filled with unanimity that
my identity touches a crack on a spotless land.
A stream in the middle of nowhere;
flowing in directions that have no boundaries to fill.

To animate this relationship with myself,
I must expand my horizons and look beyond finite.
Instead of standing under the glass myself to learn my intricacies,
I must fall under the millions that shine over me.

Lay under the fire, feel the burn, and become a subject of stillness
to comfort the role that society illustrates.
How many times this sentiment arises and
how many times do I blink and lose sight of it all?

This will make me strong. Make me live. Make me affect.
Yes, these emotions are brief,
but night comes and the pain makes it last forever.

. . .

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Be Her Shadow

It’s not easy to raise a girl. She’s fierce. She’s perceptive. She’ll learn the ways of life by how you treat her and how you do not. So let it all go and be her shadow. That’s the only thing you can do.

. . .

Be her shadow.
Raise her mind.
You won’t know until you do
because she’s little known
to her ways of life.

Don’t mistake your anger for love
that’s not the dress up she knows.
Down the road,
she’ll say yes from your no
she’ll be from your all that you weren’t
that’s just how she grows.

Don’t give her playthings dressed up and fair
that’ll make her believe
she’s not as good as for such flair.
Encourage her a talent
whatever it may be.

Don’t tell her what isn’t hers
rather teach her to dream.

You don’t make her a believer,
you make her wise-
wise enough to say what is,
strong to not string along lies

Perhaps, she’ll never be like you
and why would she?
She’s a part of nature-
like a leaf that falls from a tree.

. . .

Want to see more of my poems? Follow me on Instagram, here. You’ll find my latest tweets, here. And my new Facebook page, right here

A Dark Alleyway

What do you see when you walk down a dark alleyway? Do you see only the wreckage or do you see the path?

. . .

A dark alleyway,
you are so fated,
but not by yourself.

Look around you,
I beg you to see,
all those chains
telling you not to and to be;
telling you to breathe,
telling you to stab,
every emotion you possess.
All the worldliness you believe.

Don’t look away now,
you know you’re dragged.
All that you felt,
has not been riddled.
You’re on display,
in that dark alleyway,
but you don’t know it yet.

For your soul is alive,
still lifeless.

. . .

Want to see more of my poems? Follow me on Instagram, here. You’ll find my latest tweets, here. And my new Facebook page, right here

Mirror Mirror

If it’s in the mirror you’re looking at, what do you see? Do you see flames or do you see yourself as free?

. . .

Mirror mirror on the wall
like frames set up
to take the fall
for all the crimes you committed
for all those you didn’t
standing against a wall now
the edges as sharp as your commitments.

Mirror mirror on the wall
like prisoners lined up for the fall
crumpled like pages
temptations ahoy
scaled to seem perfect
but no matter what you live for
it’s always the image
the one you once used as a toy.

. . .

Want to see more of my poems? Follow me on Instagram, here. You’ll find my latest tweets, here. And my new Facebook page, right here

That Sweet Talk

Who has written the possibility of what is taught is understood is materialized, every time? On the spontaneity of false notions, the fatalistic desire of the damnable, and everything leading up to that sweet talk we happen to speak to ourselves at least once in our lifetime against self-criticism and faith. Maybe, just maybe, what is taught is never completely understood, but is still materialized, all the time.

. . .

That sweet talk
to frustrate me
to provoke me
into complete destruction.

That sweet talk
of times ahead
with weapons of my past
only to numb me of my head.

That sweet talk
of memorable experiences
that often lead to disasters
let’s just call them strange incidences.

That sweet talk
of fighting my demons
of avenging from self
in the name of freedom.

That sweet talk
turning tides every season
and with courage
it’s only made from my hidden treason.

. . .

Want to see more of my poems? Follow me on Instagram, here. You’ll find my latest tweets, here. And my new Facebook page, right here

What Does Being Alone Mean?

It means having faith in yourself. And it also means to, unerringly, resist certain natural instincts to find your miniature stone among a million others. For if in the greatest agony, being alone can mean many things: it can be a solacing embrace for some while for those a suffocating asylum. There will be many things that will take you away from you, not only to perform day after day on a stage alongside constant comrades but also to find your sense of quiet and meaning in the world where everything seems perplexed.

I find it unusually satiating that how being alone can take you away from paradise, but at the same time, create one for your own. It means that aloneness is extending equally to tap into your ‘desperate, painful’ and somehow bringing to surface the ‘real, candid’ you.  Somehow, from what I see, aloneness is not one thing, but many. It’s not an eye-opener, but merely a kindling of being loyal to you, before anything or anyone else.  What does being alone mean? It is that complicated that we don’t understand? Or is it so simple that we can’t believe in it?

Pay your respects
it is forgotten now
drowning within the shadows
my ego forces me to bow.

Starting as a substance
to consume, judge, and upset
let’s play that game
where we follow the practiced steps.

Actions and reactions
we’re stuck in the habits
of messing the lines
and of labeling our tides.

Only when we’re in deep
we look at how perfect our wounds are
to find out
we’re not the ropes
the strings
or the force
we’re just a living
and the soul in cages of our cosmetic roles.

Silly, it really is
to forget yourself
thoughts are things are mannerisms
why don’t we break the shelves?
become our only ones to
break that companion nonsense
just for a little while
become to become
a stone unmoved
but defected to inspect.

Life Is A Tale

Are you struggling to survive? Do you count your days or do you make your days count? Life isn’t an answer, but a tale with many answers for each one of us, different as night and day, but still so closely imbued on each other.

. . .

You win
you loose
you grow
you choose.

It isn’t the rules
it isn’t the conditions
it is something
it is made out of small decisions.

They say
they judge
they stare but
they don’t care as much.

Stop resisting the change
stop locking your frame
stop to start from scratch
stop to realize that life isn’t just about the fame.

Define life by living it
define courage by surviving it
define beauty by acceptance
define ambition by practice and persistence.

Life is a tale
and now you understand its chapters
turning pages finger to finger
maybe even skipping a few for answers
you’ll find passion
as you will grief
tell me what you’ve read
because the book is still void
for it is written by your forbearance.

. . .

Earn Wings

Craving for change isn’t the routine any longer. Maybe you don’t know what is, and maybe you won’t ever, but the virtue of believing that there is, won’t stop you from trying. In tribute to that which remains unknown, here is a short poem.

. . .

Earn wings
not to strike
but to shift from one to another
for life is nothing but particular.

Earn wings
to be patient
it isn’t what you’ve gone through
but what you’ve done
what you were before “it” happened
and what you are now after it’s done.

Earn wings
don’t dwell in the past
they prick
they hurt
they don’t caress
the truth is
they just blind you to think you’re not the worthiest.

Earn wings
for there will be complications
it’s life, not your world of expectations
nothing works out the way you want
so what?
stop the cringe when
you cry when you want to
anger when you have to
those are complications too
but as easy as they come
don’t succumb to those who can’t forgive.

Earn wings
your goals will never end
they come and go
the answer lies in those trying moments
when you know you need to start letting go.

Earn wings
replace the nest
to become a crest
against the immovable
the dishonest
and guess what
you know the rest.

. . .

The Creative Genius

The Rebel’s Manifesto says that one should do the opposite of what one is taught in school. So it also says that one should simply make a mess.

This is me gracefully spawning what I think, believe and act on daily to enhance the creative genius of the world. This isn’t the creative genius that will get you money. This isn’t the creative genius that you want to become in your twenty-something or thirty-something. And this isn’t the creative genius that you read about in an extensive book.
In the astronomical sense of existence, each mind is neither too young nor too old to be labeled explicitly that. Enhancing the creative genius of the world means revealing that what is already stocked in our minds. Enhancing the creative genius is saying what needs to be said, felt what needs to be felt, and finally, having to deal with it as the ultimate tyrannies one swallows daily as an attempt to make it on our own, and not to sicken our sorrows in still silence.

In light of enhancing the creative genius of the world, I’ve dictated a poem.

. . .

They say I’m young
but I’m not the only one.

They say I’m different
but they know that’s not how it’s done.

Creativity is a cloud
and we’ve got each one
don’t stare too hard
but jump to another.

The truth is we’re grounded
but living a transparent lie
it doesn’t matter if
they say you’re creative
or they say you’re fly
don’t buy in that.
Because creative geniuses don’t forget
what matters in this world
and what’s left to rest.

This isn’t life
this isn’t forgiveness
you’re tapping away
while your mind is bleeding
store your ideas
store your fate
because once they’re gone
you will come again
but not the same.

Creativity is all you got
embrace
don’t disgrace
respect
don’t discredit
whatever you think
whatever you’ve felt
don’t worry
just make a mess
creativity has no label
it doesn’t fall in line
because your mind, you rules, your innate identity
what have they got to do with your time?

 

Free Thought

There is a closer understanding of “free thought” when thought is but an outcome of an already disclosed advertised piece of material. The silent music of the mind portrays tunes already duplicated in many, but each times unique forms, so is free thought free at all?

On account of this, I’ve compiled a short passage to parody the institution of free thought in its entirety in a way that it challenges mine.

. . .

You like the flavor
but grow to envy the taste.

How funny is imitation
when it’s recognition you crave.

Free thought, free thought,
we’re all made to believe
but how were you before you were made skill
the art of complete realization?
the practicality?
the redemption?

The silence is still here
and so is the will
you don’t know until you know
so where’s the thrill?

free thought is just a flag
blowing in the wind
so don’t mind the drag
if you’re just in it to win.

It’s not what you know that counts
it’s the foundation
fight the dull, fight the silent violation.

Your rights are yours
but don’t brand them
as free thought is not an excuse
it’s a conception.

. . .