Monday, February 15, 2016

So Late

It's late at night
The hour is dark
Wrapped in tight
I hear dogs bark

The tick of clocks
So metronomic
I'm wearing socks

My neighbor snores
Empires crumble
My mouth is sour
Stomach rumbles

Sleep is lost
I'm wide awake
The wind's a ghost
The windows shake

The sounds of night
Absence of silence
Of barks and bites
Aural violence

I sit here waiting
Rhyming words
Waiting for birds
I should be working. But when a poem is ready it won't let anything stop it.

Sunday, February 14, 2016

Chasing the sun dog

The heart is a brittle beast
In flight, somewhere over the horizon
Where the sun sets in the west
And rises in the east

Every heart needs its wings
And desire to beat those fucking things
To stay afloat, to keep flying
To delay the hour of dying

For every heart that dares to fly
The prayers are floating in the sky
Like birds with wings of fire
That simply forgot to die

Now the rays fly like arrows
To penetrate thoughts and hearts
The shadow of the sun dog, on my face
Ready to chase another day

Happy V Day, motherfuckers. ��

Wednesday, February 10, 2016

back to zero

warring with jarring words
twisting and turning 
to make any sense
out of the mess that's 
been given to me
pushing and pulling 
to seek a rhythm
in this cacophony
an abyss of randomness
and i am begging
for a pattern to emerge
i've got a breath stuck in my throat
and a smile pasted in my brain pan
i'm doing all i can but with every sunset
i realize i am only a man
just a man thrown back to zero

i don't have the time to do all i want to do and whatever time i have is running out.

Monday, February 8, 2016

Captain Abakus

captain abakus has a leg made of wood
he's not really evil, but i can't say he's good
he's full of tall tales, his cons are quick
somehow he always has a sleeve up his tricks

captain abakus like to get drunk on rum
he needs more than a measure to loosen his tongue
a glass won't do, no sir, he drinks from a bottle
the rum goes in and the captain goes full throttle

captain abakus is a weird fucking fellow
his one eye is green and the other is yellow
his mustache is hooked like a sickle shaped moon
his voice is a blister but it carries a tune

captain abakus once told me this tale
any fool can win, but you should know how to fail
and since the day his leg lives inside a shark
he likes to get drunk and check out chicks in the park

I wrote down the words "captain abakus" in my journal some days ago and today his story just drifted out of the pages. 

Sunday, February 7, 2016

the churn

there is always the chase
always the case no matter what you do
stories blurring the lines of reality 
what's truth, who the fuck knows
you count the days and hours
your blessings and your powers
things slowly rot at the edges and the core
but then why the fuck do i feel so sure
about every fucking thing
when reality tells me otherwise
but surprise surprise
i've got rose tinted glasses on my eyes
and it's okay
no hurry
no worry
it's a beautiful day
it's a sunny, happy day
and fuck me if i complain

we all go through the churn some time or the other. 

Saturday, February 6, 2016

then there are days like this.

there are days when the cup is almost empty
just dregs, all smudged at the bottom
i smear my finger in them
to come up with something halfway decent

but there is nothing, it disappears off my fingers
just a ghost of a feeling, a spark, a thought
a rhyme, a word, a metaphor, a simile
all gone, words in the wind

all there is, is a creeping sensation
a headache crawling up my spine
a sinking feeling in my gut
but otherwise, absolutely fine

sometimes i stare at my hands
what strange disease has made them like this
were these fingers made to strike keys
or tap on screens till some apocalypse

For days filled with doubt, but hey, we bounce back. We always do.
Imagination is a curse. There are times when your head and heart are not into it, but the fucking fingers, they know what to do. I guess that's also a kind of muse or creative angle. People smarter than me would be able to explain better, I am sure.

Thursday, February 4, 2016


I puked my brain out
It didn't even matter
Now I regret it
I should've wrote a letter

A letter to myself
Written all in code
Interpersonal communication
Carry my own load

But I unloaded it elsewhere
That's one mistake I made
Now my brainpan is getting filled
With newer doubts instead

I should have kept my mouth shut
I never should've spoken
I tried to sew my old wounds
Now new ones have opened