It’s time. It’s always been here, and it’s been waiting a long time.
You’ve done a good job holding on.
Nobody’s noticed you; neither congratulate you nor reward you.
Please remember to find the little things to be thankful for.
5.8.2020
come, stay and let's talk. it's a good day to be alive
It’s time. It’s always been here, and it’s been waiting a long time.
You’ve done a good job holding on.
Nobody’s noticed you; neither congratulate you nor reward you.
Please remember to find the little things to be thankful for.
5.8.2020
Sun’s brightly shining high in the stratosphere,
whitening atmosphere all around the horizon.
bent over, towards the dirt and dust where I stand,
I found buddings, peculiar buddings.
I kneeled, crouched, and pushing my face an inch away from the
wholesome dirt, that fresh grocery smelly dirt,
and screened a pebble-like dirt that looked like a mountain.
I then saw a white crystals, shining like glaciers of nowhere,
shining as gloriously as the world’s theirs.
I marveled.
I blinked.
It was still there.
I stretched my trunk,
pushed the dirty-earth away from myself,
and got on my feet,
the earth-dirt-crystal safely far away from myself.
I took a breath in,
squinted at the sharp white sun above,
and then a dotted point on a horizon.
I let out my breath,
dragged my feet towards an endlessness,
leaving trails of white crystals.
3.23.2020
A study lackadaisically murmurs a mundane conundrum that when brains are soaped with mnemonics, formulaic equations, and unhappy fact-checks, it shines at a hint of human warmth like a smile of a puppy tied to a parking meter outside on a snowy street with its dirty slush and squashed snow flakes when its owner comes out of a Starbucks with two venti vanilla latte in hands.
Hand in hand, we embrace for the winter, a conspicuous arena for the Sysiphusian battle. Blowing warmth into our hands, eyes glistens with sweat and tears.
10.12.2019
I won’t say goodbye until it is time
I will hold off on your sleeve and
Count the seconds tick by, inching away, towards a world uncharted, unknown.
I won’t ask how you are doing
For things will now be on a different dimensions in order to see the bright side of the world.
I will keep on hammering this world,
A world that seems to seep in the melodies of every corners of the world.
10.11.2019
To an incipient revelry,
Death paid a visit.
Introduction; Cognoscenti of all the dances and all the wisdom of the world.
Nascent bulb blithely beamed; perhaps not so keen
On the carnal limits within this effervescent hourglass.
But a bulb is a bulb. What can it do?
It will breath in the air,
Soak in the moist,
Boldly grow.
Grow, bulb. Grow.
Grow larger than the Death.
10.8.2019
Remember coldest darkness shines the smallest incandescent candle light.
Scary skeletons are what kept you going when things fell down to floor
Nagging neighbors and obnoxious passerby were who cared about you
When things took a different turn.
Try believing.
10.7.2019
Let me be a dung,
I will be the best dung in the world
I will bring forth bubbly flowers and waves of green leaves
Clear sky of breezy summer day light and a cool dusky evening.
Let me be a dung,
I may be soft and stink; but I will lift you up
I may be brittle, but I will be warm.
I may be crusty, but I will protect you from wild animals.
I will be the best dung in the world, for I love the world.
7.28.2019
For what it’s worth, here is my life.
I’ve seen the pair of your eyes,
Not letting my iris escape the eclipse of yours.
In your dark pupil, I’ve seen a quiet flame soar.
I am afraid. Afraid of what I believe as true
And a possibility that it may be different
from what the actual truth is.
But for what it’s worth, here is my life.
When our paths cross, I will be your faithful friend and your formidable foe.
When our paths depart, I will sing a voiceless song of your soul.
Because in your pupil, I’ve seen your flame grow.
7.26.2019
Lights are blinking.
This whole show I’ve been watching lazily:
is it going to be over?
Already?
“Wake up,” I tell myself.
I don’t want to go.
But, I don’t want to be wrong.
I want to end it gracefully,
Than to be ashamed.
Oh, if I could only be honest,
Just once,
And tell the world my truth,
Not the world’s,
I would live this life again,
And the honor will be mine.
7.24.2019
Rain drips from the dark cloudy night, starting a monologue of a stoic gloom.
Suddenly, a flash — a thin silver lightening dashing across the night — brightens, albeit momentarily.
Who is the person that received the lightening?
Whoever it was,
Faced the hot, electrifying volcanic energy
Grappled with its fractious momentum,
I wonder if they had a good fight worth wagering their life.
7.22.2019
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