Sunday, March 30, 2014


There is a wall and it is forbidden to break it down
Crossing requires a visa
And an unexpired passport
I stand on my side
Staring at the inscriptions written thereon
Understanding in part. Not in whole.

What if I did?
What if I could?
Who would I appear to be?
How will they see me?
The same as always; same as before
But that can never be.
There is a wall and it is forbidden to break it down.

In the moments before sleep becomes dreams
The veil becomes thin
Opaque becomes translucent and forgetting the risks
I step through
I live the language of the other side
The inscriptions the songs of my heart
As I drown in midnight rest
Euphoria, oxytocin, a complete understanding.

Midnight is long enough
Only to sustain the desire
I wake up to English
But the memory of the image remains
Giving me a reason to find a way around
Because there is a wall and it is forbidden to break it down.

Friday, March 28, 2014

It's on

is this even real ?
i ask this a lot these days.
maybe it is half real
like the moment you wake up from dreams
i know what is real
it's this smile
and the redness in my cheeks
and the solitude i live in
but even that, i'm doubting
because it's on
as if i were on stage in front of a thousand
singing the songs of my heart
with the mic stand in one hand and the other in the air
it's on,
as if i were off the starting line at the gun
and i ran so fast, so far, never to tire
because i can do anything
i can be anything
when i am everything

i broke the glass, i stormed the palace walls
if i'd only have known
for the good i would have liked to find
is only found when worlds collide
i'll float, i'll fly, in the mean time
because it's only half real
like the night you can't quite recall
i know what is real
it's that sky
the laughter that escapes in harmony
and the sun that streams inside
and the rain that doesn't wet you
because it's on
as if the world could see you shining
and the highwire blazing electric
glass in your hand and plane in the air
it's on,
as if between time and space we get what we deserve
which is more than we could imagine
because we can do anything
we can be anything
for we are everything

Friday, March 21, 2014


I travel on a road of wonder, shaded by a canopy of brilliant green. Everything is new, every flower fragrant, every image shimmers as if a mirage. I reach out to touch it, and find it's realand I am walking on this pathin this momentthis worldthis illusory forest

And I stumble on, drunk in the surroundings, in the ambiance, in the simple fact that life exists exactly like this and that it is my forest. The world turns; I stay centered. All of this is for me. I give the requisite thanks to the requisite gods and rush to explore my world, one step, leap, dance at a time.

Soon after, I come to a fork in the road. One path remains canopied, sunlight filtering through the leaves. The other path leads into the full sun. It is open to the elements, littered with rocks, covered in sand. I know if I take that path I will walk, fall, crawl, and endlessly go on like this, never knowing if I will reach my destination. I am acutely aware of the fact there may be no destination.

But if I take the shaded path, I will remain intoxicated by the fragrance of the forest. I will take the insects that fly along with me and give them a name. Everything I need is given, and there is very little I need. So much I want, but in this haze I devise ways to believe that all my desires are fulfilled here. Is there any need to keep travelling? It isn't that no destination existsit is that this was the place I always wanted to be. This bliss, to live in, forever. Once the forest effects wear off, I will sleep at the base of the trees I have only dreamed of. And I didn't have to do anythingjust stay. Maybe when I wake up, I will wake back into that dream state.

And I wake, but the dream does not return. I try to recreate it but I have no strength. Now, the forest is only a forest. And sometimes the clouds come, and the trees give shelter but no warmth.

And yet there was another path...

I turn around, try to find the path, but I have no map. I can't go backward; I would be lost forever. There is only one way and it is forward. Or here. Why not here? Am I not a creature of the forest? I settle in.

A wild catalyst appears.
Reaches out and embraces the entire forest in silver,
Strength given returns to me.
A simple nod in a previously-unturned direction
And then it fades into the mist of a beloved dream.

I follow.

The leaves pursue me. I run to escape them, run as if in dreams where one does not tire. In a flash, I leave them behind and find myself standing in the desert. I am cold and it is raining. I huddle behind a rock. The rock is warm with the rays of the hours-earlier sun; I cling to it for safety. I am not sure where I am or if this is my world.

Does it matter if it is or if it is not? What matters is that I am here. And there is still more forward to go.

And so I begin. Down this path, open, vulnerable, uncertain. I step forward, fall. Catch myself. Sand is not soft. Lift myself to my feet. Again tumble. Repeating the pattern. I do not see improvement; only difficulty.

A flower! Blood-red, many-petaled. I am not immune to beauty and I have seen so little of it on this road. I stop for a moment to gather in its fragrance. It is a nostalgic smell, a sweet smell of tea and agreement. I will take this flower with me. I will use it to embolden my heart for the task ahead. I will

I will need to stop the bleeding. Blood, red as the flower in my hand, streams down my face. Sweet fragrance; toxic effect. I toss the flower aside. My mind goes numb. I am far from anything but sand. There is nothing that can be done now; it is surely over.

I remember a shimmer of silver in the forest, encompassing everything around, above, below. Below. I must go deeper.

All I have are my hands. They will not be enough, will they? But I must try. And I find that they are rougher than they were before, the many times they have broken my fall on the shifting sand have made them stronger. I dig in, push the sand aside, silicon scraping my wrists, down, down, until they feel cool liquid respite. This water will heal. I splash it on my face, on my scratched wrists, until the red washes clear and I slump to the sand, exhausted from all my effort. In hope, I await my catalyst but it does not arrive. I fall asleep again.

But this time, I awaken refreshed. I am still not sure where this desert road will take me. But it ceases to matter, as the daily task of moving in this alien land consumes all my time, all my focus. I forget about the forest. If this is the destination, it is preparing me for itself.  

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Internal motivation

If you exist at all,
Then you must be omnipresent
Except for the vacancy inside me
I reach out in the right ways
I chant your name, your names,
Ninety-nine, one hundred and eight, and three
A mantra, a novena, and a text message
But I hear nothing in response
They say give your first fruits, your best,
But these forced words are all I have
I cannot think to offer you this.

Then in an irrational moment
Dressed only in thin gossamer drape,
I abandon my creation to your hands
And only then realize what I have done.

With nothing left to do but wait, I wake
And I sleep, and I dream of music
That does not, cannot exist
Because my notes are in between the notes
And no word comes, not in all this time,
And the days pass, and I search  and find 
I cry Eureka in the face of every stone
But I am no philosopher
I cannot claim the things that are not mine
And I live my life so far from your sky.

The only place that you are not
Is where I need you most to be
In lieu, I will transform the vacancy
Into my music room
Where I will sing the songs that reach
No further than my own heart
It is better that you do not enter in,
But should you choose to come,
You are ever welcome.

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Two sets of eyes

Eyes, your eyes
Never deviating from your destination
Eyes that inspire, eyes that ignite
That remind me of the reasons behind every song ever written
And why I no longer sing
Selfsame eyes that give pause
That turn me to my books
And away from my music --
The one thing that sets me free
The same path leads to the same destination
Time and time again
This time my destination will change
A slight detour,
A turn toward a book
Away from the lights
And into the mind
Eyes that look within, my eyes
That search for the words I want to say
But still fill with tears
When a note is plucked
Or a syllable sung
Green eyes filled not with the jealousy of those
Whose paths were straighter
But with the freshness of the words on my page
And the world around me
Not the eyes
In front of me