Awaiting Her Transformation

Worn out from the
Remnants of natives,
Here I lie atop the
Graves of ancient civilisations,
Cultivating my heart for
A well-choreographed dance,
A birdsong making its way
Towards the doors of heaven,
And there I meet her, an
Exotic figurine, my stellar angel.
Passing through the realms of
Humanity day and night,
Beams of halo surrounding
The inner core of humanity,
To relieve the slaves from their
Eminent fate of bottomless pits,
And to revive the smiles of a forlorn
Youth deemed to be among the forgotten,
So, here I delve into her inner cave
Protected from the creeping eyes of others,
And I see, and I hear, and I touch,
As I explore her caged emotions,
So please, let them out, O stellar angel,
And let me absorb your enraging tears,
For as long as the heart beats and the lungs breathe,
I will protect you as you await your transformation.

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Of Moons and Men

What if two moons
Endure a fated collision,
And then plan to invade
The vibrant green planet,
Crashing on its crust
To pull it together or apart,
Bleeding into its valleys
Distancing its wounds from the past,
Their debris treasured
Within the depths of graves,
Men to erect totems
For a sacrificial burial,
A possible resurrection
To rule over other Men,
Lustful villainous desires
Ending in an abyssal black hole,
Woes to the greed of Men
As the moons glow in ascension.

The Figure and Her

Like a perfect morning Spring breeze,
Like a rare galactic celestial star,
Like an iron heart beating for a lost twin,
Mesmerising momentarily in greater depth,
At a figure, she paints from the unknown,
A mixture of shadows, a masterpiece, a landscape,
For her to soar, like a bird,
For her to cherish, like a treasure,
For what life brings her, like this figure,
And so, it starts to dance to her smiles,
Stargazing at her beating heart that twinkles afar,
And in turn, she snows nearby landing on its cheeks,
Hearing its whispers as she silences the world,
For seven hours straight, the figure is her all,
For many more at night, she is its delicate soul,
Without her, the figure is emotionless,
The son of a concerned mother,
The brother of a proud sister,
The aging father of a little girl,
To it, she becomes the definition of home,
A place to hold onto and to always return,
A shelter to its heart, a constellation to its mind,
An ongoing novella depicting the merging of souls,
Linguistically phenomenal as both start to realise,
A preface of dubbed barriers to never lose a translation,
A chapter of tones to reach complete perception,
And yet, a different chapter consumes all emotions,
Like a breeze that comes and goes,
Like a shooting star nowhere to be found,
Like a heart that switches to a highborn,
The plot thickens and the twist befalls,
A heavenly meeting was decreed for a resolution,
Three decades holding onto nomadic tents,
Leaving few years thinking to never come back,
And yet, this figure, out of nowhere comes back,
Part of the desert, earthly merged for eternity,
For what reasoning this soul comprehends
Is beyond the logical laws of a galactic universe,
The figure and her are just a story of a great return.

My Dutch Friend

Historical dialogue between Earth and humans
Caused for banners to be put on our heavens,
The arms of humanity held one another for a
Chance to relive the beauty of nature’s purity,
And you are no different, O gorgeous friend,
Whether our time can be put in numerical
Forms or our memories can be inscribed on
The ancient pages of this Earth’s history,
Know that our encounter was definitely fated;
You see, the person who actually attracted
Me to that lovely group of friends was you,
Your energetic soul broadened its wings to
Soar over my delicate heart and fulfil the
Isolation that I felt at that moment; indeed,
I still remember, and I kept this to myself,
But not today, today I’ll tell you how rare
This friendship is; despite the short numerical
Time and the archived inscription of memories,
From your smiles and your amazing accent
To your sports and your social acceleration,
You made me look forward to the weekends,
In hope that I go back to the hostel and see
Each one of ye together for a wonderful time,
And ye were there and you were definitely there, too,
So I will delay my warm and loving thanks
Until I actually come to the Netherlands to see
You in person, and that day might be getting close.

Two Dimensions

The tongue will not speak up the words
I am willing to share with this bright world.
Time has given a divine accusation to
A crumbling soul: split between two
Dimensions separating the limbs towards
The opposite polar – the nasty negative
And the pure positive – having a go at
My delicate heart burning it to ashes
As the blood boils the magnificent mind
Into accepting the fate of its bodily
Joints to get twisted beyond repair.
There I typed it since the tongue is still
Not brave enough to free its twists tangled
Between two very different worlds; each
Going through an enormous phase of
Continuous collisions. This begets an
Aspect of life lived for the lies of others;
Only hesitation would creep into
Mine as I put on an act for an audience
Deemed to become a mirage. But since
The mask is a bit crooked, loosening it
Is the only option, so I try to take it off,
But then my world would disintegrate
Below the earthly dust and form a
Massive grave that I would just have
To voluntarily (in pain) crawl into.

Ricochet My Love

The compass has shown a polar
Attraction and the eyes deceived
Me with a dazzling beauty as she
Lets the heart swim in endless
Oceans as the mind tries to listens
To an erudite conversation, though,
A foreigner that ignites my circle of
Life and rewinds the ageing self.
I miss her. All of her. Her all.
An infinite chain chained beyond
Infinity to never be unchained,
You could call it coincidence,
Or fate, or even a universal
Language coded as one of the
Laws of attraction to attract
Entities deemed to always repel.

Sigh.

A nature’s lesson for the wise man,
An educational essay about the
Damp soil’s ability to attract the
Roots of all beauty. Beauty – to her
And of her – accumulates in the
Eyes of my compass, the one to
Tests the maps of minds and the
Directions of hearts while the souls
Intertwine to form a melody to be
Sung by our garden’s nightingales;
A ritual in broad daylight for our
Eyes to see and never be deceived,
Again – I never spoke to her until
Today, until the length of this
Entry: an entry that doubts the
Ability of words to knock on the
Doors of her elegant, soft heart.

Sigh.