Category: poem

Sine anima.

I’m non-committal,
my soul’s not in this.
I learn the rules,
I copy the books,
but my soul’s not in this.
I need to fill the purse,
I need new clothes,
but where did my soul go?

Why won’t it show?
What had gone wrong?
My heart’s on the ground.
I look for clues, nobody knows.
It must be shattered,
no longer in this world.
Where did you go, my friend?
Where did you go?

A strange second.

It happens in a weird second,
time collapses & expands.
Can’t describe it
for fear of forgetting.
It’s morning, evening, night.

Had a dream carried us away
would we notice?
Or the bad things happen
so we can remain?
It’s a hot second,
then life turns away.

Another day, parked cars on the street.
Another day, everyone hides in their cave.
The bewitching hour
when the land takes a breath,
you feel it,
the cosmic smile.

A sheep’s fur.

As I sit on the toilet,
look out into the bedroom,
the fur rug’s sunning,
all curly and golden.
Who’s this creator sheep
that lived and made this?
Then gave it up with its hide besides?
Did it enjoy the sun while it grazed?
Was it ok with getting killed for meat?
Did it father any lambs?
Or was it milked many times?
How old was it when it’s led
to the place & had a bad day?

The rug was rained on yesterday.
Now it smelled like wet hay.
I don’t know you while you lived,
but I’m enjoying you nevertheless,
of your warmth & soft caress.
You probably don’t care,
I’m saying a little prayer.
Something comforting comes out of
someone being slaughtered.
It’s someone else’s life,
there’s only the fur that’s left.
It’s useful & has a price,
guess that’s all we can get.

A woman of many needs.

Tell me a story,
give me a mood.
Hold me to sway.
Forget the world.

It’s not an intoxication,
it’s from the sea inside.
Want to know its origin?
Just look into my eyes.

Don’t need no sympathies,
just give me a baseline.
It may rise, it may fall,
we will see how it goes.

Familiar like a heartbeat,
novel like a suicide,
paint with ashes & fire,
cause ain’t nobody cares.

What are you saying now?
We can just stop?
The cloths can come off?
We can all be comfortable?

A woman of many needs,
at the right dosage & speed.
Can’t say I won’t leave.
Be more interesting & we shall see.

Molasses.

It’s molasses.
It’s rolling around.
Getting bigger & bigger.
It’s growing wild.

Give it a little breath,
and it comes alive,
with everybody inside,
all along for the ride.

I don’t like the texture.
I don’t like the taste.
It’s not I can’t love.
I can’t afford the glaze.

Do I wait around?
Do I run away?
Something else’s got me.
I might be a nutcase.

It’s something to swallow,
just something to digest.
Fire up the engines.
Are you food or friend?

Hello, molasses,
you’ve come a long way.
Are they easy to contain?
Still shitting saints?

Upside down.

Looking at the world upside down,
the sky’s pressing me into the ground.
Floating in an ocean of colors & sounds,
nothing matters, I’m free as a song.

Sail with me, with earth at the back.
Sail with me, with trees hanging on.
Sail with me, the cars are like magnets.
Sail with me, sail with me, upside down.

Can’t stop, won’t stop.

I’ve left you behind.
I’m leaving you behind.
Fast pace on this tourists’ trail.
Gotta beat the line to the gift shop.

That pack on your back,
have you had it checked?
The fancy dress shoes you haul,
hefty price-tags attached.

I don’t speak your language,
but I do know your dialect.
Same joys & deathly quiets.
A peek of a human inside.

But you have to keep up.
Can’t drag me down or else.
There’re wolves at the heels
& cliffs all around.

I check the map, eyes on the prize.
you lay back down, thinking it’s a wrap.
How do you keep up, serene as a buddha?
What you’ve been smoking, keeping you so relaxed?

You probably thinking the same:
crazy bitch’s gone insane.
We should go to some place
where you’re dead if you’re late.

Period Talk – July Edition.

There’s a time for everything. I was never into Goddesses. Anything or anyone that’s too perfect, I instinctively distrust. I was not into the latest nail polish color. I didn’t pick my cloth to impress. I didn’t try behaving a certain way to fit into a particular crowd. When I heard women, with that confident and dreamy voice, saying, “I’m a spiritual being, I’m one with the Goddess.” I would barf and roll my eyes.

But something changed recently, I’d guess it’s in lockstep with the self-acceptance and the empowerment it afforded. The confusions and agonies I felt when I had to tend to my infuriating body had changed into a kind of mirth, an understanding, seeping from a deeply-felt fondness. What do I understand now that I didn’t before? Looking beyond the brain fogs, the unhealthy cravings, the ultra self-consciousness, I found there was something else at work. The kind of things that were on the other side, that were, and forever would be beyond my control. But I have learned to look at myself and my relationship with all these other things objectively.

I was open, against my will almost, to life and the natural processes that came with it. So open that life could wash through me without drowning me. It’s rushing and crushing and unrelenting. When it did retreat, it promised the retrial next month. I was always reeling from something. It didn’t help that I judged myself by other people’s standard and always found myself wanting. At last, it’s quiet, and I’m still. I can reign in myself better which gave me the space to really listen and feel. Now when life bubbles up, I can be present, to greet it like an old friend. To be part of the flow. As a woman.


It's a divination.
With life, you're flowing,
in the stream, the mystery of creation.
Breath deep, when you greet the origin.

It's a divination.
You have to be open to know wisdom.
Through and through, a natural woman.
In the dark, still, you're glowing.

It's a divination.
Kept under locks & keys, not given any reason.
Mother of all civilizations.
Out of balance, since forced silence.

It's a divination.
A crash course, a do-or-die enlightenment.
Rivers of blood, sacred intonement.
How they blame the creator,  for the creator

is a woman.

Summer bile.

Every evening I say goodbye.
How many times? To the day, then to the night.
Can’t remember even a single one.
A residue of some impression of some sentiment.

It’s time like this I have to escape,
propelled by the resentiment of a lazy satisfaction.
Why do I feel tired just to return?
The trash’s still outside, the same couple just passed by.

If the view’s ocean’s end, or the martian soil,
will I still feel the need to pollute paper with my bile?
I may still pity myself just to see if I’m capable.
A drop in the ocean of inert particles.

It’s not blue, it’s gray & white & colorless.
The oppressiveness is felt through the closed window.
Artificial breeze bellows for the creatures inside,
who are cut off, sequestered, cornered & comfortable.

The summer’s cooking something rotten.
Pop the lid, bear the smell & the sight of the skeletons.
The water rises, the sun bakes, pay no attention.
Don’t worry, be happy, nothing ever really happens.