Wednesday, March 30, 2016

An appetite

Unlike the transfer of wheat
from green to yellow,
the appetite would not wait for you to unload the trays

Monday, March 28, 2016

A consideration

Consider me
a water that breaks over the stones
when they fall on its course

a wall, its shadow

A wall is just a wall
when you are on the other side

far from the maddening rush
to enter through one gate

or wish to tumble, in or out
the walls of a city that stood beyond history

this is the case of things
they are material once they are far

but once you get closer
the cracks are the same

a wall is a wall
depends on which side
you use to turn your head
the sun or its shadow.

The monk

The monk approaches me
he wants paper,
money for his prayer.


The start of spring,the greenery sits on the table
dressed with the taste of deprivation
to unite with outworn stomachs and broken parts.


One for luck, two for joy
a satchel sewn with another human in mind
against the evils of one's self.

Sunday, March 27, 2016

From Tokyo, with love, or other things

Last night I closed my eyes in Jerusalem
this morning I open my eyes in Tokyo

where the rain that slants on the rooftops
bangs the shades of the forest, quietly

like people moving into the subway stations
two hundred, two thousand, two million

ideas come to my head,
and the eyes meets green,

all forms of beauty, flowers grow
on trees, that grow on your heart

in Tokyo, the realization that one chases
luck to the end of earth, flourishes

but brings along this pang of panic
that rests among the comparison of tall buildings to small hands

fast trains that run into hundreds of lines
carrying you to one needed destination

in Tokyo, the shadow of the past tangos
with the unique present at every street-corner

beaming with color and light
a flavor explodes on my tongue as I twist it

into words, long but proud of their origin
braid the conversation around mutual ground

I learn how to peacfully patch the ground
that was once shaken too much by earthquakes

in Tokyo, at night I write- without anyone in my head
to instruct me of the direction of the verse

I compose a quick note I do not dot the letters,
from Tokyo I send you nothing but warm wishes
of love, of a long-happy-life, of postcards promising
a return to where we once met, from Tokyo you will
receive only love while I keep the other things.

6 March 2016, Youth Memorial  Olympic Center- Tokyo.

At the public bath

A public display of my body,
unphased, slowly breathing before water
submergs the urge to think

Exiting the Minotaur's castle

How do you find your way when the power's out
by relying on the sounds of others, like the way she
relies on the sound of his breathing to save herself
the rampant anger of the beasts that speak of punishment
she pauses to listen out, tugs out on the ropes she's made
to survive, one must keep the senses awake but-
what if the rope leading out of the Minotaur's maze
was tied into a knot, never tangled by mistake?

Loyalty, like Hachiko

Between loyalty and devotion
a flicker of a candle, a mane of a horse
there's a glimmer in the eye of a dog
that awaits its owner, whose gone into the clouds.

Lost in Shinjuku

On the street, I stand waiting 
in a space where my eye left 
without coming back, without second thought 

the language evades me, like never before
halts me from speaking, from seeking
a way out

on the street corner, the game shop greets
my confused envy of others' restfulness
with a monotone song, I am part of a crowd that is not

set to become one thing. the skyscrapers
swallow my hope of finding a way
amid the tired faces

not broken, not softened, not flattened
but drained of the hope of running around
the sky, dark and ever so welcoming

hails rain on my back, hails rain on my hair
as I wait for an answer, a pointer
a magic hand that lights up

or the voice that says this way or that
but none other than my companions arrive
more rain but this time around the scarf
that wraps my nose and smells of a land far away
like the remains of my mother's cooking 
this scarf, so soft, like the touch of a lover I never had.

the photo is taken at Shinjuku, the night I lost my way in a city bigger than me. (Canon, EOS 550D)

Wednesday, March 23, 2016

Ocean view

How would I know, the first time I would
confuse the ocean to a sea, all wide and wavering
without waves, very calm to my liking.

Over the bridges, the train passes,
masts, sail, ducks that swim the surface
and there would be fresh wind

I meet the Pacific, feet first,
head later- there would be a sensation
of connection to souls, swimming in the deep

like a depth inside of me, hollow still
cast out seashells, purple bruised
with the pain of losing

a home once inhabited
the sun reflects on the ocean
three  minutes for the color

to regain consciousnesses
this is the Pacific then,
full of humans wasted
empty and quiet, a good surf.

Humans leftovers washed ashore by the Pacific Ocean, seen for the first time in Odaiba, Tokyo- Japan. Taken by me.

Swift as a flower

Without questioning, the sun arrives
bees on its rays, pollen on every eye
petals, roses, picnics and easy-living.

Night-waking in an unfamiliar room

Sometimes when the walls creep in
I think of you, not as a salvation
but as a sleep-aid, a solution to drift

instead of counting sheep that get to a bran
to open and re-open the throngs
of hooves coming my way

out of a dream- this is an unnecessary
part of the night that haunts
most of my experiences

but it makes a mark, over my skin
this wakefulness without
reference  in a room I will borrow

for a week to coax, a vision of you
from my head- this would become
an attempt at making mine

your features. How is it that I
close my eyes on a familiar sight
and open them again inside my darkness

the visions stay and the uncalled for
openness, this body does not cooperate
when other people sleep, it wishes to

walk the streets, roam the night buds
there's a reason to the clock ticking
like water from a sink that keeps dropping
leaving behind open eyes, closed arms.

Tuesday, March 22, 2016


One bow, two claps for the divine
bow again, chant a word
the temples of humans, or shrines.
Photo taken at the Meji Shrine, Tokyo- Japan.

Adam,my first man

Adam, the first
made from dirt and the bones of a woman
yet carried by earth

this is the first Adam
shedding land and water
for hunger

temptation, ice in the belly
an apple beyond reach
you've got hands but

this doesn't mean you can
make a fist around
everything you can touch

Adam, sleeps to fend off
boredom that comes
when one sees too much of heaven

plentiful to waste, a significant
 missing of wants
 soft stone for a bed

laughter echos alone over water
like God's spirit
until soft hands nudged you awake

Adam, mine you are a different name
half syllables of a song
unapproved lyrics.

The birds wake because of you

This morning I woke up before dawn
spread its arms around the bed, nudging my head
in the distance, I could hear the clouds
turning into rain, and I could feel a weight
where my heart once was sitting heavy
and drifting into cloudier thoughts-
There will be very light breeze when I go to work
the city is quiet today with the sounds of fury
but along the rings of flaming rain someone
will decide to let life go, for other purposes,
a newer skin perhaps- for that louder noise
will emit fire and stone together, a dance of elements
this is morning in a different city-  the singular mood
will dominate the crowds and the birds will awake, startled.

Monday, March 21, 2016


I bow in grace, to the level of respect
of the human heart, of its interiors,
walled with tender spots for those who have
taught ethics by being

the reign of imagination

To descend into the visions of imagination
Add wonder
subtract the reality, but don't open your eyes

Question of time, again

When I tell him about the second
wasted for other purposes 
in waiting for tomorrow, that is just a possibility 
he tells me not to worry; 
time comes to us, again, like 
the tide- renewing its faith. 

Phone call with my mother

On the line, the words hang,
like rain that falls from the ground to its belly
I know that the cold wraps this city except for
my mother's voice calling to say: cover up well
from the sun and the storm.

The huge city

I have written of cities often,
ones I have lived, ones I have loved,
but to each a flavor that defies taste
with poems and with other ideals

that cannot be described in gentle terms
the number of people walking on one crossing
to avoid cars, carts and other things
contact with an endless ocean of possible terms

there's a fire to each city that burns the heads
burns the heart to make the streets endless
chances, changes, dreams down drains
this is the city that wastes no minute

in waiting. A lot has been shouldered here
weight of a bomb falling, reconstructed
into becoming a reflection of the beauty
looked for everywhere, but found in a ocean's
seashell, cast away for a better chance at cleaning.

Thursday, March 10, 2016

line ends

This is an unprecedented delay under making
like how heavy my English accent becomes
when I talk to someone who can totally understand me
this is an unprecedented delay in writing because
for a clear period it is not a lack of energy
but a lack of lines, a lack of time
do not blame me for missing the words
when the lines end in a sudden verb

Matching smiles

he holds her gaze when they walk side by side
she holds a picture of his face in every airport
like jeans, the smiles match
each time one of them looks

Postcard 1: far away?

Dear _____,

I am writing this postcard to you from on of the highest buildings 
in the world. The view is actually nice, so many city lights and people 
we move together and drift apart,
here there is no silence, I laugh to combat memory loss.
It rains a lot on the island. It pours on my pillow, 
every night. It shakes at the end of paper margins- 
this humble need for ink and pen. I am well, 
food is just great, a burst of flavors, really. 
But I am well, very well actually.

all my love,

P.s. waterproof mascara stains on my face doesn't replace your voice
or your hug. 

Wednesday, March 9, 2016

the words sleep in me

Over the clouds, the words sleep in me
from the East to the most Eastern part of the universe
the letters move.

this is the empire of the sun
where the one who drapes their body with a Kimono
knows only one tongue to talk to you

with a blaze of energy in the eye
and a hop between the steps,
you make the process of being easier

on earth, the words sleep in me
opening my eyes, shutting them
there is light in those words
where the words slept.

This is a quick thought

A quick thought this morning faces me
you delay the speed of ideas,
by pausing, to restart,
the process of moving

New wind

The swallows realize
it is only possible to speed up the flight
when you face new wind