sweet memory

take me to the reverie
where rivers run free
and the sweet memory
dares to take off her lacy lingerie

in the valley of a quiet lee
a silent litany
between you, me
and the naked memory_
raised solemnly
to the gaieties
of the celebration of serenity

the celebration of sweet memory ...

lend me a mirror

lend me a mirror
to see the eyes
the eyes that stare me back
the eyes that see the sky
and the sky that looks her back

lend me a mirror
to find the face
the face that radiates the grace
the face that reflects her wishes
and  those wishes that will come true

lend me a mirror
to feel the lips
the lips that kiss her back
the lips that smile at me
and the smile that will appease this troubling peace

ma old lady

ma old lady lives in her own castle
where i don't want to come near_
speaks her own language
where positive adjectives
are barely there_
sings her own songs
never a lullaby that i long_
stands behind the dark shades of daylight
while knitting her own fear in her own colors_
her brittle soul
perfectly hidden under the thick snow
of december_
her cold cocky ego
yearns for warm hugs
and longs for sincere smiles
things she's never given to me_
things that now she wants so dear
(and it's just too late)_
alone she suffers in her castle
where i don't want to come any closer
bruises in her heart whisper one wish
  _love me,  ignore me never_
the little natty old lady
cold and lonely
her breath slips through her scarf
the scarf that strangles and chokes her silhouette_
a lonely soul weeping under the sound of the midnight's song

and i don't think i'll sing along_

death, be good

you'll be my tomorrow
my ultimate destination
believe me
i won't betray you
i won't run away from you
when the time's come
i'll be your bride

so, be good to me

you promise me
to be the cessation
of suffering and pain 

and i won't complain
just one plain quest

death,
be real patient with me
i really am not in a hurry
i'll be happy to stand in the last queue
in the last number of your list
so take your time
relax
have some coffee
take a stroll
fetch the others
before
you knock on my door

die

it won't beat you,
paul said
       i know,
       i won't argue
it's a gain
you said,
       i completely understand
 why cry in pain?
       keep your faith
       it would be a profit

would it be not?

poetry

things you write
while sitting under a tree
when falling leaves
kissing the breeze
and the green rice fields
be your bed of grief

but i would say

poetry is just words
created by unknown nerds
who write them on the aching hearts
then out print them on the crumpled souls
with ink of blood and tears

free verses
be read by freakish minds

no offense!

in the cold and lonely hallway

(picture by courtesy of Suzana Maria)

the smell of the past wafted

through the chilly hallway

it ambushed my mind

with dusty memories

painted in black and white

you felt some old limp spirits waddled

along the cold floor

their blackened tongues licked your ears

and whispered the darkest lie 

your hopes for the kind air dwindled

withered in the evening sky

you tried to shout for help

no one heard you

not even those wandering souls

gave you a damn

and the cold wind blew your hair

it played the hoary curtains

hanging on the wrecked ward's door

made a mock at your fear

as the air wailed in the emptiness

here,

in the old lonely hallway

that led you 

to the other side

...

a prayer

here Lord,
at the foot of the mountain
i pray for that little girl
little girl with hat of ashes and sandals of dust

Lord,
when life really treats her bad
and she falls to the ground
unable to see Your light
help my little girl to fight
for her faith, o Lord

may her tears lay the dust
from her agonized heart
though it's hard for her to trust
the mountain she used to cast
all her burden so vast

o Lord,
have mercy...
have mercy...

a girl with hat of ashes and sandals of dust

behind the dead bamboo trees
a little girl with hat of ashes, sandals of dust
peeping at the red bloody wound of the dawn
her crystal eyes unable to penetrate  her hope
unable to slice the dense grey smog
to find her dad and her mom
who went along with the dust
buried in the cleavage of rage
under the great fury of the earth
a little girl with hat of ashes and sandals of dust
sat in silence musing quietly to herself
when mt. sinabung was desirous
of making love to her village's land
his thundering breath blanketed the earth's life veins
leaving over the misery
gave birth  to a million pain
that devoured my little girl's dreams
all her hopes were covered
in the angry ashes of the mighty mountain
chewing and crashing her strength
till her wound and her misery complete...