2014. March 22.
Traces of you wisping, like ghosts of soulless.
Our memories fragmented and diminished,
with no reminders of its’ credibility.
Right before my eyes,
The places you’ve been,
the things you’ve once did. We all did.
And those damn words, all flooded by tears.
Lover, oh lover.
2012. October 1.
Of all the strangers who are passing by, how did lovers cross paths?
Thing could only get stranger when the funny chemical reaction from
oxytocin, they called the love hormone, accelerates.
To a path of happily ever after. Or a make believe so.
I wish to credit science for all that have been, to detach and see
as a scientist would to her subjects.
But I am a poet, an accursed one at that.
This is our love story. Love, fight, misery, and joy.
Two curve paths on their individual trajectory, crossing and separating.
Separating, and moving further away. Only to cross again.
This is how we begin, with an end in mind.
We have our hearts tinkling in this country of desperation.
Cries of ours to break the bondage of such land,
of such isolated community, of such anonymous being.
Unheard and unknown.
We couldn’t stay for long. I didn’t want to. And you never could.
I have the end in mind in the beginning. Maybe so it is for you too.
2014. May 11.
I’m chasing the tail of the last existence
of you in my world,
to know that you are still waiting for us, again.
I want to think so.
Those mystical creatures we could imagine. We
go spiraling freely in the tones of music.
I still dance without you, but recently find myself bound
to melodies of sorrow.
Towards the infinity of time.
Drum beats, churning the heart that flutters.
we have to find our home.
Yours, of grounding steady beats, of foot stamping,
of dances tribal.
Mine, of upbeats, of hips spinning, supposedly.
But it has become mellow and emotional,
of dances tribal.
Everything so tribal that it starts breaking apart in this land of agony,
speed and haste that we could never get along with.
A secret you remain and fine it will be.
Today. Now. I still miss you.