“”

Why do you believe in “perhaps” so much?

“Perhaps because there is another parallel universe, and perhaps there, we’re together.”

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poetry was the only way to tell you,

even in your leave there’s a way to love you even more.

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“It takes a lot to grieve or kill a man, and sometimes just a handful of love.”

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“What is the difference between man and the sun?”

:

“The sun does not think and so it rises when it needs.

The sun does not hesitate and so it shines when it deeds.”

:

“But a man does the opposite.

He dwells in his past and worries what hasn’t come. That’s why a man dies a hundred times more, before dying all at once.”

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“Promise me when the winter comes, you will stay the same.”

—spring

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After love,

“It’s goodbye to someone, and for someone, it’s only waiting.”

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“If you must remember me then

I hope you do;

not as a lover

but a stranger you’ve never known because someone told me,

strangers meet again

but lovers never do.”

—hope: less

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“It’s one of those ‘her’ in every man, That knows,

Love is a timeless journey Without an end or the beginning.”

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bury the night, and the hurt

in the endless pouring rain

think of the sun and her eyes

somewhere close, somewhere in

the distant—

once the wanderer, above the

sorrowful mountains, was I?

replete with time and sated by love

oh, the mourning dusk!

alone in a foreign land, far

and rusted, most in defeat

bring the joy, elate me

there is a house, dusted

and leaving,

I lived

if tears, won’t bring me back

if stopping, won’t remind me

the ache

then I’ve lost it all, I’m lost

again.

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Like the earth for the seasons,

Like the mountains for the snows;

Like the rivers for the sea;

Like the moon for the sun aglow,

I have longed for you here,

For the love I’ve adored; Forevermore.

How far must I stretch these arms?

To reach for the warmth, I’ve lost

How long, shall I wander; alone?

To find, the place where I belong.

It’s those shores, that begs for my ships to sail

It’s in those depths of the ocean, I drown.

It is every place I go,

Everywhere—

I take little bits of you with me; With me, you’re there.

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Almost of you

It’s night and everybody’s gone, then you return home. You see your bed the way you left; the blanket spread and the pillows on the floor. The clothes are out of the closet and all over the place— the food wrappers and the coffee stains.

As you start to clean up the mess and fix things around you, you forgot to change the dress you’re wearing and wash that makeup from your face.

So, you slowly put everything back to its place, and you finally be yourself—laying down on a cold sheet of your bed, staring at the window of your old apartment—the same view, the same broken street light; flickering now and then—the same empty sky, the same breeze that teases your pale curtains. And the life you lived an hour ago stops to flow the same direction but moves further backward; giving you the heartache again, which you almost forgot in one of your busy days.

Because I know, it’s in these moments, this lonely space; you miss him the most and maybe love him once more. But you can’t go back because no one seeks the home, the one they ruined.

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House of adamant December

I once loved you madly and freely

Soothing air and the pirouetting leaves

Billowing hair and the dress around our twin feet I’ve stayed here just the same with your memory

The home of an unvitiated stranger; vaguely reoccurs to me I asked you then, “Will you always be here with me?”

Such a poignant reminder of your delicacy

The perfidious man and the redundancy of beloved eighteen Can you even compare the fall or the arrival that isn’t seen?

My love, the winter had us and the vows are to fade

Such are these branches to die and my roots to sail

I will be here once again, to reclaim all of what we’ve become— The lovers in another’s arms or the man, I, in a distant land.

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