Sit down face to face
Speak up eye to eye,
Two apples paired together,
A bewitching pair implied

Both classically trained
In music and art,
Witty and kind,
The matchmaker beams.

Tick tock tick tock
Seamless joy it seems
Till the second glance
Many hidden seams

One apple splits
and to its surprise
Finds itself round,
An orange in disguise.

Toxic Love 175

Like eating chocolate cake in a Vera Wang dress,
The nerves might fade away,
But the stomach flab won’t forgive.
Creamy heaven and promises at first
Turn twisted into guilt and pain,
Self-loathing ensues,
Temptation survives,
Back and forth the toxic current flows
From one heart to another
Till one dies and the other–
Goes on laughing half-heartedly

The process is the hardest.

From one point to another
A lifetime each,
Filled with laughter and tears–
Nostalgic memories that cling
To every similar scent.

Hands grip tightly to an old reality
Like a caterpillar refusing to turn,
Fear of the future—
But what if one day you find yourself
Gone, poof!
Trapped in world in which you know is false,
Do you fear to disappear?
Do you fear the grasps of time
that threaten to distort your sense of youth,
bury you in paperwork and
listless, empty routines?

Taught by white flesh—white mind
Small town girl,
Slanted eyes she did not see.
Vision of sameness—same souls
Same father,
Till the time zone changed
And all she knew about herself
flew out the window,
yellow skin, slanted eyes
“You different from us,
We not the same.”

There are two identities:
One you own—
and one you serve.
The first lives in the soul,
always restless and wandering
like a pendulum,
swings from side to side.
The latter is constant,
Sustained through the eyes of others,
You may be a swan now
but always a duckling to them,
helpless, feeble,
Same from birth to death.

To own the one you serve
In a world fueled by many faces
and two-sided hearts,
Weariness sets in fast–
How many times—how many ways
Will you claim the master’s seat?
Yet, to others, you remain,
a servant forevermore.

Haiku 172

Petals on water
Like ballet flats dancing free
Blossoms in the Spring

Who in our midst has betrayed my confidence,
stomped on loyalty for vanity
Rung the bell of insanity
and destroyed vows proclaimed eternity.

Do you know of one without a pack,
freely roams day and night
Feared or loved by candidates
filled with guarded spite.

Have you heard the birth of love,
rose from blood of hate,
And if love fails to bloom
hate declares checkmate.

When comes a redefined “good”
one version unsatisfied,
Desire and necessity interbreed
race of Who am I?

For what cause do I surrender integrity
if I even possess the guts,
To my court of dutiful ma’ams and sirs,
dare join me in scarlet?

The Turning 170

May I repent on short notice
Hate-consumed soul
Ways the serpent coils and hisses
Gasps for air but none.

Trickle down dirty slime
Shiver the porcelain bones,
Flesh eating disease,
Spreads if weakened I fall.

Events unfold unnoticed
Here the body but where the mind?
Bucket of loose ends,
Strange confessions of nonsense.

I pour forth all the wretchedness
Look what creature speaks,
Can you save a once-forgotten human,
Skin of blackened flesh.


With harvest moon comes bloated joy
Contentment on its highest peak,
My basket full of ripened dreams
Of desires picked and trees stripped bare.

When come the full moon night,
barren trees and worn out dreams
The basket lighter than the wind,
Empty but filled with anxious want.

With new seeds contentment dies
burns a hole in wooden weave,
Weight of unheeded prayers
Leaves behind a desperate stench.

Forgotten are the good and fulfilled,
I launch onto another road,
In shoes made from leftover gold,
Winter gone and Spring arrives.

With grass moon comes bloated joy
Contentment on its highest peak,
My basket full of ripened dreams
Of desires picked and trees stripped bare.

rflower graphic

When potent flowers no longer seduce,
the cat has just one life,
Writer and the chopping block
head-to-head; defeat.
Magnified objects in frozen time
drops the jaw too slow,
words come a second too late,
awkward space ensue.

Crowds take talent to remain unseen,
mind and soul detached,
painter and his model–nude–
nothing else but paint,
one duty, one cause for attention,
emotions: distractions,
the trash lady and her uniform,
hand them to her.

Weight of the world is an understatement
add a century a dreams burnt,
Biblical stories of revival and rebirth,
remain grouped letters.
I rest my case deep in sleep
buried painfully,
that poor bird and its broken wing
doubtful hope in death.

Some days I return to that dark cave,
dip my toes into the lagoon,
fall and place my arms above
deeper and deeper the drop,
pressure upon my fragile lungs
mouth opens–
black liquid–
race through opened gap
like strings of death charging against
a dimmed life; a silent soul
drowned by layers of altering questions
with no answers in sight.