Love ends when poetry gives up on the eyes. Love says goodbye when the windows becomes just window and the stars dots in the sky; when dreaming only makes an interval among days. Love ends by the recidivism aridity from within, a bond that hardens, captive thorn, cultivated wound, distances that are born between us and life, between us and the other. And what about the love that never died for there is no end but now no longer exists? Which line, word or absence traces the boundary between what we were and that we will not be anymore? Perhaps, … Continue reading Love ends when poetry gives up on the eyes.

Remember my love when we were invincible? When our love was extraordinary? Remember when we insisted on summer even though it was winter? When we had the elegance of the clouds, the lightness of the birds, the innocence of the little ones? Remember when we were immortal? When we were cut without bleeding and loved without hurting? Remember the time when there was never wreck? When we accepted heights and integers alone? Remember when peace was our blanket? When enchantment was routine, when rest was routine, when miracle was routine? Remember my love when there were feet left for the … Continue reading When dreams die

I’m just a young spiritual nomad, collecting bits and pieces from different cultures, religions, literature, etc. I guess I could never accept one way or living, considering how big the world is… Truth lies in the realization that absolutes are nothing but illusions. Please, do not make me a poetess since I heard that only those whose hearts have been touched — and, indeed, broken bleed pretty words. Do not make me a philosopher, constantly wondering about causes, effects, probabilities and especially about where everything went wrong. I do not seek a greater understanding of the word ‘love’ which slips … Continue reading I am …

I want to get lost into you, and see how deep I can fall. Observe every dimension that is within you… feeling as though I am in another world. Precisely like an alien invader. Surrender, and let your heart catch me… which will be my new home…❤     Continue reading I want to …

People carry wars inside of themselves, sleeves of skin tainted as a battlefield roars across plains of their soul. Memories blitzed by pain knot tightly around their hearts like overgrown weeds. You stare into the mirrors of their eyes and see nothing but land ravaged and barren…  Continue reading …some people

…and love for most of them, was this weak ugly way of being. It left you too soft, too wide, too honest about the flowers in your bones, too much water, too easy for fever. So I learned to apologize for love. I sat on my hands when they wanted to touch. I tucked up my feet when they wanted to take me to someone, something. Falling in love became civil war. And the shame that would come, because I could not swallow the warmth from my eyes, every time, like I was taught to, was an everyday altering of … Continue reading …my purpose

Sometimes, your eyes take such a far away look I wonder if you have telescopes inside your brain. They think you’re looking for the stars, but I know better. I know that you’re searching for craters to fill on the moon or to catch the shooting stars that fell too soon; the ones still worth saving. You want to save whatever you can, even if it kills you. Maybe that’s why I don’t confess my dark thoughts to you. I don’t want you to read too much into them, I don’t want them to disturb you so much, so that … Continue reading My diamond friend…

Do I fling my heart at you toss you my fears describe my desires display my anger guffaw my laughter object to hatred spill my love kiss your words with mine sing out my sadness destroy and rebuild? I am a poet no I pretend to be a poet… Continue reading …spill my love

Somehow. Within the existence of time and the universe; with all the correlating and colliding atoms and matter… There is this planet. The only one that we know of. In which timing and elements synchronized so perfectly that it created life. Upon it came humanity and with it; the beauty to process emotion, concept and ability to question. There’s a magical grace in which the universe instills in certain individuals. The competency to write. It’s a gift to be fluid with words. To convey thought, and emotion and wonder. I like to believe that whichever degree a person’s skill is … Continue reading I am writer. I write…

Burdened by thoughts she could not speak, Deceived into silence by those who think her meek. She draws with her lips and writes with her tongue, Words she could not say, to paper she has sung. Riddled by questions of the vast unknown, She ponders, carving poetry into stone. If rhymes were naught and verses were bare, The poetess has no game, but to obliviously stare….   Continue reading …by thoughts