at the riptide on my blue veins.

I am at the end of the line

in the deep ocean I lay.

I let the undercurrent shake

my foundations of faith

moored and hidden

a wreckage-

beneath the sea weeds

and coral cloisters

beached with visions.

Murkier as mud clouds,

adrift in liquid abyss

disturbed my soul. I

an abandoned cast-away.

The once mighty crusader

sailed the troubled waters

has now dropped the anchors.

Weighed down, crashed,

beaten and ravaged.

I had forgotten the buoy

afloat in its hope. Angel

caught in the maelstrom

shroud in its mystery

just like a prayer.

cross paths with years-

I avoided to wage wars

with you.

History lays the casualties.

I hungered for more but

you left me with nothing.

Instead, ransacked my feelings

used to crowd with many.

We exchange fires,

empty bullet shells.

Words wound like shrapnel

of the beginning to an end.

Courage sometimes do not reward

the martyrdom of a soldier.

Nor losing the only option

to breath beyond

the unforgiving

and survive.

Disarmed,

undecided

to surrender

love.

out of fear and out of shame.

Those liberal and unorthodox thoughts

you may find offensive and tagged as madness.

I never came across, closer to mean

that I am thinking about you.

It’s like a hand in the glove.

Emotions I can grasp but can’t touch.

What is happening? Chains that I’m trying

to break loose. Adrift, peace that comes

to knowing that I had offered honesty

at your table to feast. I regret not

about the words which were locked

and hidden from my heart. Words

which are meaningless now

and will never touch your heart.

I leave it to fate to bring

the silent messages,

mute and unspoken.

I let go.

while the sun greets you.

Smile at the beauty of the leaf

giggling at the wind’s kisses.

You can dream while you’re awake

basking at your solitary pleasure

in isolation, without discontent.

Your mind paints on the canvas

the memories that has flesh and bones.

You can touch them with your imagination.

And your shadow whispers at something

about being in love, with life

and the pain is fleeting. Moving

like pictures of the waves at sea,

clouds sojourning the blue sky,

and the sun bids goodnight.

The wine will lose its spirit.

The midnight lamp extinguishes.

The sounds will soften.

But sleep will shy away

to the oceans of many

thousand nights before

with the stars shine bright.

For another day is here

reminiscing in solitude.

She left me with a dark cloud

hang in there, just hang in there-

swing like a pendulum.

Of clocks pulling, pushing

and shoving the minutes

and the hours’ languor

of transient bedsheets

into mundane abeyance.

Then, in a morning rush

I’ll slip on my pants

in disbelief dismissing thoughts

of a terrible one night stand.

Zapping my way through

crowded streets with people

who puts on their masks-

their prim and proper quietude.

I serenade my way to the desk

letting the dirty fingers

behave and do the 9 to 5 walk

within this cubicle wonderland.

That non-reversible jargon

to earn a living or making a living.

Day job, night life.

I need some bucks to spare

doing my rounds again.

Prancing in the moonlight,

kissing strangers of the wild.

Until I find myself waking up

on the wrong side of the world.

Start the day as if nothing happens

last night. I only keep the job.

like the ones before. 

It’s the last nail on the trading post.

Faded signs becoming too obvious now.

The weeds have grown unkempt. Abandoned,

when a familiar shadow is missing.

No one travels from here.

It’s okay to catch some empty promises.

Like empty quarters and the city streets

that once filled with lucid sojournings

of midnight vultures needing some spaces

to spare in the magic hours.

Reality is harsh and it will whip you to bleed.

It’s unforgiving by the minute

the sparks have died down from the remnants

of a dying star. Tethered and servile

to the gravity of its shepherd moons.

waiting for signals

burning like fireflies,

embers and ashes

through the wire.

Fall into thoughts

less words.

The longest night

of killing the hours.

Pushing freewill.

Catching Morse codes-

to smoke or not

to smoke puff floats

in luminescent air.

You win again.

When the cable lines

gather raindrops

hanging low, dazed.

And confused as if

glimmering like tears

I, since the morning,

broken at a distance.

Like other nights

betting on a chance,

my silence is born.