Hymn to Love

For the beauty of moments
in the cradle of your arms

For the comfort of your warmth
in a breeze from the north

For the purity of your kindness
wrapped up in thousand yeses

Love of all, to thee I raise
Tis' my hymn of grateful praise

My Longing

The longing.
My longing.
For a little note.
A little note in the end.
In the end of the day.
The day that I lived.
I lived thinking.
Thinking.
Thinking and hoping.
Like a child.
A child ignorant of harm.
Harm from reasons.
Reasons for kindness.
Kindness and caring.
Caring without taking.
Without taking.
But asking.
Asking.
Asking for more.
More of this.
This longing.
For a little note.
For just a little note.

Stream, Stream

Stream, Oh stream
of a brook, wherein their fins glitter
in streaks of light under water,
will you never rest to twitter.
I look into you on a humdrum shore.

Faces around every bend
await your purl, so down you go.
Jubilant are you to the end
and your odyssey be ever so.

Float me, stream, to where I belong,
like the pebbles rolling light and free,
and the leaves drifting along.
Float me down gently to the sea.

My Kind of Spirituality

I want to know the answers to which
my godly friends cannot answer.

I want to see the reason why
I must have a reason why not.

I want to understand the greatness
of our creation called the creator. Amen.

At my very last moment, I want never to utter
"Damn it!" It just seems peaceful.

Rain - A Short Story

After the movie, we walked out of the theater and toward the station. I was surprised to meet the hazy sky that must have developed in the last two hours and a half while we were inside. It had been painfully bright out when we went in. "I can't believe the ending," I said, kicking off a pebble on the street aimlessly, with my eyes on my feet aimlessly too. Both my hands in pockets. A toneless "Yea..." was the reply, barely voicing any opinion of the speaker.

We then walked in silence for what seemed like 10 minutes or so, and then I felt a little tickle on back of my nape. I realized it was a drop of rain as I felt where it landed with my left hand, and at about the same time, "Oh no," was uttered beside me. She, too, was now aware of the rain. The annoyance that was in her tone made me feel blamed and responsible. Soon it started pouring.

We had quickened our pace. Neither of us had an umbrella. We shouldn't have had to, anyway. The forecast reported nothing of the cloudburst that afternoon. If anything, the whole county was supposed to rely on the dryness that would last till the end of the week. Stupid summer weather, I thought. And what a stupid liar! Stupid weatherman in his stupid suit. Now it was raining cats and dogs. We started running.

We ran in silence, except the rain was making a thunderous opus on the ground and on cars driving past. I don't know about her, but I wasn't running to anything. The station was a little too far from us if running to avoid getting wet was our purpose. And there was nothing in our sight a place that seemed to lend us a roof. So we ran, because it seemed like the only sensible thing to do at the moment.

After a block or so, she was falling behind. She had a purse that hung heavily on her shoulder, and it jumped around her waist as she ran. I wondered what she could have had in there. She also had sandals on that made her calves skinnier than I had seen. They didn't seem to be making her running in rain any easier either. I wanted to slow down for her. Or even better, not run at all. We were soaking wet as it was. running or slowing down didn't seem to make much of a difference anymore.

"ARE YOU OK?" I shouted. trying to be heard over the rain pouring. "WHAT?" sh shouted back. "DO YOU WANT TO WALK?" I shouted again, not doing a great job in making myself sound any clearer than the first time. "I CANT HEAR YOU!"

She didn't seem interested in what I had to say. So I shut my mouth and kept running. She had probably given up on making me say anything, really. Probably thinking what an asshole I was for choosing that horrible movie. For seating ourselves in front of the loudest kids God has ever put on earth. For managing to forget the napkins from the popcorn kiosk. For leaving my seat twice for bathroom and leaving her in the dark in, again, that horrible movie. Thinking what a weirdo I was for going silent and awkward and squeamish the moment I picked her up today. Thinking what a screw-up for choosing a day that would rain. And I wanted to tell her, "I checked the forecast! Three times! The weather man said nothing about the rain, I swear!"

But I didn't. Instead, in the middle of this Murphy's Law of a date, I felt like laughing. I don't know why. Maybe it was the fact that she couldn't hear me over the rain. Maybe it was her purse dancing around her wist like it was going to fly off her. Maybe it was the movie that didn't register me at all. Maybe it was my trembling hand that wanted to grab hers the entire two hours. Maybe it was that I wanted to kiss her the whole time. Maybe it was my sudden awareness of my tongue tasting like coke and salty popcorn when I actually sat up to go for it. Maybe it was the stupid soundtrack that kept the perfect moments pass. Maybe it was that all I wanted to do was kiss her, and I couldn't for the life of me.

So I laughed, still running. Not out loud, but if I did, the rain would have muted me anyway. I'm going to kiss her, I thought. She must be pretty ticked off now. Heck, she is probably furious. Whatever is in her purse is probably soaking wet and useless by now, and she probably hates me because I made her run in rain in those pretty sandals. Maybe she might even slap me after I let go of her lips. But when we reach the station and finally make a stop under the roof, I'm going to kiss her before we even catch our breath. And for the moment, running in rain felt like the best thing in the whole world to be doing.

Under His Jacket

You are still hungry to death.
But you don't know what you want to eat.

Yeah.
That's the feeling.

You are always telling yourself
the two shadows will become one someday.

Yeah.
That's the hoping.

You are scared like no tomorrow.
But more than that, you are just big fat hurting.

Yeah.
That's the fearing.

You are so aware of it all,
the truth, the fact and the differences between them.

Yeah.
That's the knowing.

You cry very quietly,
under his jacket hung, with your face all crumpled.

Yeah.
That's the calling.

Nice Enough

Go.

If acting to care,

to be nice enough,

starts to seem

too much work.

Go your way.

Take your brutal honesty.

Or shut up and

be nice enough.

Let not others

hear your sighs.

Go your way.

Take your blinded sympathy.

Go.

Coup d'oeil

Your glance.
I felt.

Your gaze.
I knew.

Your glimpse.
I caught.

Your peek.
I peeked.

Your eyes.
I met.

Your cheek.
My nape.

Your lips.
My lips.

Another Morning

A pain is the reality.
Not a verity.
A remain is an act.
Not a fact.

Has another night gone again in hasty
bringing me to a day in vanity?

My Life with One Too Little of You

The man told me today at the auto shop
that I need a new compressor installed.
Oh that's just perfect, I told myself,
now is the time my car is also getting old.

I lost my wallet a month ago or so
and my computer got infected too.
I had my twenty-sixth birthday last week
and whom do I blame this to?

Things in my life are turning cold on me.
With your belongings gone from my flat
my belongings are not coping with me right.
I turn for comfort now only to my cat.

I burn off calories on puking up
and I sleep to the sound of my own thoughts
instead of your snores and breathing,
but at least I think no more of how we fought.

Was agreement so necessary?
Were differences so disturbing?
We had a harmony of our own kind.
For what more were we starving?

My life is alright.
I wake up alright.
But alright is awful without you.
My life is with one too little of you.

Riding By the Shore

While I go on pedaling,
riding by the shore,

The sun sets behind the horizon afar on my back.
My thin, long, scarlet shadow runs beside me.

I will just go on pedaling,
riding by the shore.

A breeze from mountains flies a feather in spiral.
The feather lands on water to be cradled in its ripples.

I must keep on pedaling,
riding by the shore.

The lips feel too cold from the salty air to purse.
The tongue's stuck behind the teeth in the mouth that's awry.

I might let go pedaling,
riding by the shore.

Know that I am pedaling,
riding by the shore.

Catch me stop pedaling
off the bike on the bank.

It

To want a thing or two
and to know what I want.
Exactly the way I want.

To come upon someone
to flip me upside down.
Completely upside down.

To believe in it
and to want to get there.
Might as well get there.

To know that I didn't come
to this world for nothing,
but for fucking everything.

To feel that a freedom
within myself alone may be just as bad
as a freedom that never lasts,

because it might conquer all.

It just might, after all.

Dear Anne

The face,
mercilessly simplified,
bears the thousands of others that exist inside.

The voice,
calling you myself,
replies to every proffer on be half.

Is it a dare
that is meant never to be undone?

Or is it a care
by that which concluded to give us just one?

You never seem to compromise
on the insipid reflection that meets the eyes.

What would I give
to fear and embrace with you
the sheds of feelings?

To tell you in the face,
dear Anne,
that I live a life of you?

To see anything
and to want everything
and to yearn for more things still?

I Have a Crush

"God freaking damn it!"
Just wanna grab around his neck
really really really hard
and spit those words in his face.

Y E S

Yes.

I was a non-believer.

Yes.

I was a beautiful liar.

Yes.

I was an over-achiever.

Yes.

I was a delicate crier.

Yes.

I taught myself this.

Yes.

Yes.

I denied myself that.

Yes.

I resisted them so.

Yes.

Yes.

I refused them still.

Yes.

Yes.

I questioned it.

Yes.

I made up an answer.

Yes, yes.

I impersonated a slob.

Yes, yes, yes.

I reminded myself of a sloth.

Yes.

Yes.

I thought like a slut.

Oh yes.

I gave a damn like a saint.

Yes, yes.

I still am a non-believer.

Yes.

Yes, yes

and

yes

got mself

yes

yes

this

yes

yes

far

yes.

In Oblivion

Step into the cave

deeper
and deeper
to the deepest
and

push me over to abyss.

Float into the sea

further
and further
to the furthest
and

knock me over in oblivion.

Fly into the air

higher
and higher
to the highest
and

shoot me blind to the sun.

Sins of My Best Friend

That big-headed bimbo
spitting her speech before me.

That duplicitous dweeb
working her walk before me.

That squeamish squatter
twisting and turning before me.

Cursed be your hands in my palm.
Cursed be your strokes on my arm.
Cursed be the face behind your glance.
Cursed be the days of your silence.

May God forgive you.
I can not.

Invasion

Alert,

the virus,

will invade
your immune system
of cynicism
of criticism
of pessimism
of euphemism
of suspicion
of objection
of protection
of exhaustion
of distraction
of self-satisfaction
of assumption
of presumption
of arrogance
of ignorance
of indifference
of incoherence
of judgment
of assessment
of post-trauma
of self-drama
of over-thinking
of unthinking
of reminiscing
of dismissing
of doubting
of re-doubting
of daunting
of taunting.

Note,

the virus,

will make you have
feelings

and might cause some
orgasms.

Day and Night

Waking up has never
gotten any better...

until this day.

Because you are there
in the light of the sun.
Within my reach,
here in my sight.

I become aware
of our time that has begun.
Let us count each
of every day and night.

For falling asleep has never
gotten any stiller...

until this night.

Midnight Haiku

The night steps its way
into my time alone
ever so lightly

The moon says to me
"The sun will not fool you so,
like I am capable."

"It is not but I,
whom you fool with your gleam,"
I reply in hasty.

"It is the vision,
and the ears of my mind.
Not my person fooled."

"Why then," says the moon,
"Are you asleep with eyes open,
while your mind's awake?"

"That is so," say I,
"For your arms'd wake the dead
of the deepest sleep."

"Why then," says the moon,
"Is your mind dead while the sun
attends to your person?"

"Not but dead," say I,
"Only asleep, and deeply so,
to rest and to hide.

For the sun is bright,
too bright for the mind to be seen.
and to be looked on."

Shield

You stay simple
and harbor the most
genuine heart I have ever felt.

So I humble
toward the heart of
your warmth which makes me melt.

Your heart
lands quietly onto mine,
and your eyes fall straight into my own.

And your hands
put my palms together
and shield me to the core of my bone.

So I keep humbling
toward the heart of
your warmth which will always save me.

And here I am trembling
with the fear of
this fragile idea as such a thing as we.

An Ode to Jude

Innocence was what fell in the dust
as you carved white stones.
What was to be lost has been lost.
Left behind is what was to remain,
and you are again to stand alone.

Knows the earth of Marygreen:
You are still the little tyke
that fed the birds in the field.
Pity yourself not, little Jude.
The stone to be laid above you
is yet to be carved.

Sleeps Ophelia

Under a willow Ophelia sleeps,
cradled in its green sleeves.
Her tears, flowed for all,
float still in the water who called,

"Softly shed ever.
Warmly wiped never."

A lonesome soul,
with a coloring bud for a heart.
Singing afar is the echo of howls
of a wind never heard.

"Weep you no more.
Care not his honor."

Blossoms

Blossoms on a cherry tree
sway above a dozing street.

Here comes joy with a breeze.
The warmth I recall.
The comfort I know.

There I will stand at ease.
The bells I will toll
to the smiles I owe.

Sonnet I

I gaze up the the moon who spies
the universe, upon the seen and the unseen.
The night is deep, the dim from a street lamp slides
into the room, filling this scene
of longing with lights, increasing by and by.
A breeze through an opening of a window carries the scent
of early fall and of reminiscence to my
Nose. On it, a heart is sent
to be delivered to another that awaits it.
A wordless message that speaks louder than many,
and I will not write or speak of that which wastes it.
To wait is to yearn. To word, to speak any.
O, the sweetness of sometimes being alone.

Sinfully

Sinfully,
I have swallowed my sinister laugh,
then thrown it up as a small cough.

Shamefully,
I have crumpled up my helpless cry,
then tossed it up into the sky.

Simply,
I have spoken of my silence,
then buried it deep in my conscience.

Singularly
I have whispered my constant screech,
then pitched it far out of my hands' reach.

Sincerely,
I have lived my so-called life,
then sashayed myself out of a strife.

Soundly,
I would like to meet my long sleep,
that goes very, very, very deep.

Supposedly,
There will remain nothing cared.
Nothing will stand for that which is ever dared.

There

On a sunny afternoon of May
I thought back of the day
when you and I were here.
Our lives were simply just there.

I do not know how, yet
we were here when we met.
Then we happened, then became us.
Still, we never were, just as well as...

there.

Were we getting?
Were we seeing?
Were we ever?

Weren't we ever almost?
Weren't we somehow finally?
Why weren't we fucking...

there?

On a sunny afternoon of May
I thought forward of the day
when you'll be of my past.
Time will have simply just passed.

There, we will get.
There, we will see.
There, we will be.

A Shirt

Wash face,
wear a shirt,
and out I go striding.

Today,
a day just another,
but yesterday.

Never Never Land

Believe, did you not?
You drew a map.
The world was everything that there was on it.

"Sorry," was the cue.
You had lots of fight.
And you forgave and were forgiven just as much.

The light went off.
You fell asleep fast.
Because, why not, you had said "Good night."

And when you ran,
You just did run,
Because you never thought of tripping.

And when the time would come,
You'd be a grownup.

And you ever thought of tripping.

Dreams II

I walk off a bus homebound.
The western draft blows to meet the east
Through where my heart should beat.

Hot water drums on a weary body,
Echoing in my ears and in the empty.
With forgotten lyrics on the lips
I hum with my befriended silence.

I look at my hands, fledged well-bred,
The same hands from which I've freed
Many that mattered. Afar,
I hear a little voice, giving a prayer.

Keep not your dreams the way you do memories.
Dismiss not the shriek of a girl there once was.
Ignore not the question,
A noise of disturbance, yet of salvation.

Dreams I

What I wished.
What I desired.
What I wanted.
What I declared.

All that I parted from.
Some of which I forgot.

What I gained.
What I attained.
What I grabbed.
What I attempted.

All that I left behind.
Some of which I lost.

None of which I thought.
What I now call my life.

Ask the Wind

How many times
Have you orbited the earth and seen me down here
From up where you are?

How many times
Have you crossed the Pacific
And counted the whales under?

How many times
Have you brought the pale faces on corners
The brightness I see in spring?

How many times
Have you blown your way out of battlefields
Sweeping up ashes on the pavement?

How many times
Have you seen smiles and frowns
And which one of them do you see more often?

How many times
Have you heard a prayer of a villager
And known his answer from the city you'd just passed?

How many times
Do you think we will weep, sob and cry until
You see us with bravery? With eyes of savior?

Without a scar of tears?
Without a scare for affection?
Without a trace of fear?
Without an anger at confusion?
Without a laughter of manipulation?
Without complication?

And how many times,
Since you've seen it all,
Do you think I will love? Down here on earth?