May Torrents

The night is hardly young anymore

diverting  the westlands eastward

to avoid a new spring storm

I am,

scribbling down my feeble relief,

on a rear window on a way home;

Not looking back, just counting my footprints,

lost in an unwelcome shower of raindrops.

Smiling

we postpone then pose a new breed of floods

in a selfie of endless don’ts.

Too many shoes to walk in.

The hazel looks are too plain to notice.

Everything I felt has been used against me.

Everything I am has already been killed.

By drowning.

The wheel of faith circles around a Schindler’s list

of mundane mustn’ts under the cuddling clouds

Threatening us both, born the same year,
divided by seasons
and their grounded exponential frowns

each wrapped inside

a few duly principles and blah-blah platitudes,

right next to the life boats.

The last naïve romantics-
inhabiting these proud outskirts-

Calm down their fever with four-leaved clovers.

In their raincoats, I’d rather multiply this hope,

Though- for a rescue

We all need an extension, it’s certified.

Pending Scales

Motto: Then they fell from thy eyes.

With the old shadows, desolation is my only mask;

I keep my fears off whenever I preach- the way

the mighty sword caresses the unrolling dice,

the ultimate void laughing in my face.

Again.

Tranquility - just a nocturnal remedy in all kinds of weather

I’m the fallen whisperer; my injured attempts are

Up to fate, my defiant whereabouts out-of-reach;

Anywhere under the sun is my home,

Anywhere under the moon I will hide-and-seek.

We still have our words, don’t we?

Our pride to share- are the skies the limit no more?

My prayers are voiceless, my paths have been crossed,

My tables turned down so often. One

can either move on or stare

for a sensory fairy-tale to decompose.

I envy the wild horses' graves

They never have to cry. There is no imperfection.

No make-believe. Whatever the records, the odds,

We have been cursed for too long.

Acrostic Poem

                                  To Lore.

Sunrises are free, just like you lighting up the dawn

Turning  the cold darkness away, naturally,

One can feel your born-from-within warmth,

In no time, in the same breath,

Children’s innocence makes room for new hope

And wild orchids bloom under the rainbow.

Let us learn, again, how the vivid butterflies dance

Or why perfect roses can’t be re-planted!

Right you were to capture the beauty of all things in a smile

Even the soft echoes of lullabies and the white of the marble.

Distant voices, however persistent and musical,

Are still unable to sing our friendship in the rain;

No other self has ever flown together - like us

Alas, I still owe you that eternal “thank you!”

Ruined Renaissances

Remorse, like creepers, can become our jungle,

Where elegies are replacing sonnets and odes,

The divine, yet so human, icons

Are the last spiritual imperatives

to censor a glass door
and synchronize the remaining hours.

I carried a holly bridge across every river and precipice

And what have I become? Nothing

but an earlier boundary on a lost isle of creeks and falls

a collectible relic excavated and recovered

to better-preserve its figurative role?

Everyone reminds us of someone-

Our eyes, kept on shiny prizes, too blinded to see

Our foreheads, labeled by denials,
surrounded by oblivion.

Though we underestimate the power of loving

To the detriment of being someone’s daily daydreams,

There are no clear-cut distinctions today, no sins,

But a vertical dissolution, an inevitable futility,  

of pitch-black memories and self-indulgence marks.

Regeneration is always rooted inside;

Tomorrow- the last gap of perish will be crossed

Instead of a promised serenity zenith

Will I be reaching
a long forgotten and constantly decaying crypt?