The last abuse

Perhaps you thought it’s a lie again

I had lied several times

That I will love you in your deathbed

But all I was, was a liar

But this time, I will wipe your feet

With my wet tongue, and amass the dust in my house

For this time,

Believe me, even though it’s for me

But I promise that my love is a white pigeon

Flapping its wings in the wild gyre

In search of a stench buried in a starless night.

Believe me one last time

Even though it’s for my interest

Even though it’s selfish of me

Perhaps you will stay

And listen to my last lies

I will coo to none but you

My lies will glue us.


Am at the edge now

I like old souls, old people, and old shoes

I am at the horizon,

I like everything as old as me

Except you, fresh like lemonade

At least this time you could listen to my lies

Perhaps you could rest on my shoulders as we did in the tavern

Perhaps you could rest your tired eyes

Peeping deep into my watery eyes

Like we used to do in the meadows

Staring at the last lilies

Before they wilted, like our lost lust

Perhaps you will stay this time

And swallow my last beats

Of the last lies ready to eddy a sailor.


You made my heart beat so fast it shattered like glass in a slum

Perhaps, this time you could stay

And listen to my last breathe

That only counts your steady paces

Like a starlet held in time

I have tried thinking but being wary of my shadows

I have tried stopping my breath

But the thoughts about you

Dissuade me from all my humble thoughts about our parting

And here I am, ready to lick your earthed fertility

Here I am, ready to spew my final lies

Perhaps you will stay this time

And let us flock to the mirage of my lust

Perhaps you could listen to my last lies

That laying my head on your chest

Listening to your heartbeats

That’s the safest and calm feelings in the world.


The End

Nothing wakes me than the turbulence in your eyes

And the sun is yours forever, as my perfect gift.

There’s nothing comparable with your streamlined waist

Running down your toned pelvic floor

To the slender, long legs.

And here I am, crucified to your love

But you don’t see the intense heat in me,

That I spew the weight of men

Who lift concrete bars on their heads.

My life is different, am like dew in smog

But you don’t know, that am a different breed

Our poles will never collide

We fly in disarray

Anointed in rustic charm

And amused by our hallucinations of being cared for

But none of this is true

We are poles that will never collide

Amidst all our cravings, they won’t be one.

You really don’t know that am not the shooting star

Am not the matador

Am rather the rustic nuisance to your parlance

Am the keen knife to your elegance

Until when you exfoliate

And become that dust at the hem of our existence.


Chasing waterfalls

What else, but my cocoon trapped in the wild

I chastised sanity and a glamorous journey

So none of my sins is cleansed

I am, but only a desperate, marooned despot

I am, but a reckless, lost feline

Chasing waterfalls percolating in a hot desert


Most men are jubilant for tearing down their throats,

They are glad to see their sinking ship loose its last price

Because they envelope the beauty of one woman, they only fall for one.

But not me, a dreadful sinner

Not me, a lost fiend

I am beautiful, but only on my hull

For I salute every page been folded in the city,

I wax for any frond that passes by,

Being silly to all the girls in the neighborhood.


And I never cared about my scars

Because I am, as they say, a perfect freak.

I never fight to end the decades of nasty hassles around their waists

They are never valuable to me

Their long days to satisfy me make them tasteless.

But that rather hardened me like steel out of a furnace

I adore them more, chasing waterfalls

Wanting more and more, of their wilting concords,

Chasing waterfalls, is my mark

But for decent men, guarding one woman is their savory quest.


What if I feel this way for the rest of my life?

Skewered to her pulses

But can’t fully integrate.


I see her devout lines cascading the cocktail skin

But I can’t touch, can’t dig through

Her match is peeking through the high glasses

To part our grainy dale

For every breath I take every pace I embrace

She giraffe through the glass ceiling.


Lolita, I can’t kiss the loin of her oily cleavage

For her crip is higher on me, balancing every move

She wants to know why I fall in love for the mirage

And why I extol two lilies

When I could have only succumbed to an antidote

And gradually die in the blazing barchans,

Rather than in this labored end,

From the saints I thought could gush Perfumes of Paradise.


Lolita, I feel lost in a hot gyro

With no rim,

Lost between two stealthy flames

What if I feel this way for the rest of my life?

Digging for the missing jigsaw

Flipping through oodles of dirt

Wanting to embrace a fresh start

Wanting to be with my perfect dream

But that mirage is never seen,

But the two mistletoe stabbing my yearned heaven

What if I feel this way for the rest of my life?

What will be love then, biting my edge?

Where I feel like recasting my voice

But the last airwaves are locked

And here I am, ravaged by two lovers

And not sure of who to imitate

What if I feel this way for the rest of my life?

Crossing the ocean

Part of the ocean is more desert than brine
And my deliverance mirrored on the desert

I need a shower in your spring

And let your beams ravage my myopia

Aghast by their ravaging fangs.

Most men want to be revered,

But the doves in the citadel are cagy,

They coo, but to only one, at least one at a trod

And their hearts grow soft like silk.

I thought I had a spoil, for capping two lassies

But am tossed to the Bay of Fundy

Can’t hang for a minute longer

Am naked, buried in Rafflesia

With two birds draining my nectar

Each, piercing through my starkness

Wanting to resolve me.

Am urging for the last breath

For I have only a heart, that can solace one colleen

Am crossing the Marianas, without a pull

Lost in the gyre, trying to fulfill their choleric crush

But they fail to know that I am an oasis,

A withered petal carelessly hanging in the sun.

The cremation of a billion-year guru

Strange things happened in the folding nights to his cremation

Men rallied and women cried in their bits to foam the last sway

The trails, hurriedly patched while the world waited to see his last dust

The lights seized shinning the paths

Papers torn and inks spilled in the meandering springs

And the cremation seemed thin

The horde orchestrated night clambake,

The outfit waddled the courtyards

And priests veered the sunken artery

All, but to halt the unforgiven pyre of a billion-year captain.

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

By men hoping to plug the last purview

But nature stood deviant that he is cremated in midnight or limelight.

The savoir-faire have blanket avowal

That would run your blood numb

But all the world wanted, is the cremation of the billion-year tycoon,

And today, this cold Saturday, we isolated his shy remains into the same sea he ousted his gourmets.

Our chosen sword

It is said that time is limitless but our long day finally surrendered.

Saturdays will always come, but blooms wither differently

Sons and daughters, we fought differently:

Some held swords, wires and others a tip of a pen

We scribbled differently and sang in different tones

But our strains, our stanzas, our whacks were never different

We mated in a proposition.

And in our palms is the sprig.

Sons and daughters, it is said that time is immortal but our bit is to oar inland;

Our zoo, today, is not to tear, tirade or trash but to strive and work and pray,
that all may live in unity, freedom and peace each day.
Our hands and hearts tied to our backs, towards the common good.
Sons and daughters, let’s swallow our fat; pledge our firm allegiance and renew our promise;
Fight for our warrant, irrespective of our diverse people and thoughts.