I wait by the corner of thought. Contemplation is seconds away. Sometimes I allow my thoughts to run free. Dangerous, I know, but a necessary risk to get to know me. Not sure if I’d ever advise anyone else to do so. Get to know me, that is.

I feather my thoughts into the skies, hoping they will come back with snippets of wisdom, truths or anything interesting.

Somewhere in this head of mine I know there is hidden a treasure of stories, poems and such, or maybe just a jumble of words gasping to make sense. Clamoring to be pluck from my mind and placed together in a meaningful way. Someday this might happen.


Maybe never.


Black holes and newspapers

I made you
from throw away newspapers,
yesterdays gossip,
a paper mache mish mash
of discarded hopes and dreams

And I’m wondering why I spent so much time on what I know can never be. I read and reread you thousands of times, yet your pages never changed. How could they, you were already in print. If you changed, maybe I would never even wanted to read you?

I made you
from sideways glances,
stolen memories
unkowingly shared between
two strangers, passing by

How could I not see that two strangers who never met, would stay strangers for all eternity. No matter how much I dreamed of you, you would be always that stranger to me.

I made you
from foreign objects
harvested from space
a newly born star shining
brightly in the vast dark sky

But even though light travels as fast as it does, you’d still be a million or more lightyears away. And what if I found you, but your star have collapsed. A gaping black hole that can only take and never give back?

So I’ve accepted you will decide for yourself, who it is that you were meant to be. And one day when I finally get to the place where we’d meet, I’ll be delighted to get to know the person who I never knew you could be.

thought snippet #2

How quickly can things change?

one moment you’re smiling

the next you’re down on the ground

searching for lost tears, and years

lie wasted there with you

how quickly things can change

thoughts on paper

most paper
were meant to be written on
doesn’t matter
if its in a language
you could never understand

its the beauty in the lines
that you draw
that takes my breath away
and lend it to the wind

which allows the treetops
to gently sway
and catch the sun
in the green of their leaves
and send it into the trees

maybe one day
it will end up on your desk,
and what you decide to write
will bring all back into the light


The lune is an American form of poetry similar to the haiku.  One way of writing a lune is to count the syllables: thirteen syllables are arranged in 5/3/5 format, five syllables in the first line, three syllables in the second, and five in the third.

Here’s my first attempt:


another sticker
on forehead –
that’s not who I am

and I’ll move on

I write this, not for you,
but for the person inside,
the one that merged with my heart
becoming a part of it
the one that slowly dripped
poisonous wax into my eyes
the one that knew to make me smile,
when I felt lonely and wanted to cry.

I write this, not for you,
but for myself,
because I invited you in,
I provided the fire
I opened my eyes,
I smiled…

and I know,
when I rip you out
my heart might stop
or maybe
it will beat still
there would be life still
a heartbeat
and as time slips by
it might grow
than before

with eyes closed…

I stumble
into the unknown
the not yet shown,
because I’m afraid to see
where I’m going [1]

[1] where am I going?

I draw
onto the night sky
my finger towards heaven,
because I need to imagine
what love is [2]

[2] what is love?

I shout
afraid of nothing
my voice a mere whisper,
because I need to listen
when the answer comes [3]

[3] is there one?

I imagine
a place I’ve never been
I need to get there