On Relationship

My lover is in the arms of summer

Dancing through a grandiose field of wildflower

We stumble across a river of hypnotising water

Getting lost in our very own vortex and spinning hour

If the sun is gone, then let him be our father

And the moon, and her nightingale, let her embrace us as our godmother

For the stars never sleep even though they shiver

And we will never bleed as long as we're together.

On Letting Go

Here I am sitting in the heat of my romanticised metropolis again, trapped in a mechanical traffic, and inhumane emotions.

This is the place where homeless men and billionaires eat from the same junk yard.

(In an exhausting month of March, not even in the rain)

We breathe smoke more than we make love; we spread laughter like raging war.

The only thing that I hear in my sacred asylum is the ticking clock. 

Symbolising my sudden fear of emptiness and dying hours.

After all, this is the corner that consumed a huge amount of my catastrophic life.

I've learnt to raise my hands up high like a hooligan in her Saturday night ritual, yet I've never learnt to let a person get away from my own guilt.

I saw the fire in his eyes, burning the whole atmosphere of his mind. 

We did play for a while. No. Not a while. 

Three years full of consequences of getting burnt fingers and steamed mouth.

Until the flowers of April bloom from the core of our filthiest thoughts, and their roots sleeping in the depth of my lungs; forcing me to let myself slip away from his Mediterranean embrace.

I am the book definition of catalyst; I set you free.

Corporate and Red Mary-Jane

9.30 in the morning,

Thick knowledge in hand, and pouty lips.

The woman in red Mary-Jane, she hates her fate more than

The matching suit that she wore that painful morning.

The green fabric, and the tasteless yellow stripes seem disoriented in her hazy figure.

She asked the starless skies to suffocate her in her sleep the night before,

But we all love her little tiring walk to the cream building in city central,

For we see a glimmer of hope in her sunburnt skin, and a little bit of ourselves inside her demanding soul.

Genesis

Long gone,

Thirty three summers have passed.

The trees echoed your name again.

It's that time where your name is permanently stitched on my lips -

Like a prayer, a spiritual chant, as if it would protect me from death and cavities. 

The thoughts of going away, and intertwined arms underneath the indigo skies of February are present in between my temples all over again.

Discovering paths, rebuilding trust. 

It's quite difficult for us to touch.

I am still listening to the same humidity -

You are still traveling shorelines in humility.

There are still nine million universes inside your eyes.

There are still eighty one reasons for me to live these lies.