Lampooning warlords

Do they need a giant astreoid to hit their gardens
to wake them up by sitting on their chests,
black, cold and heavy
to strip them off their soft, warm winter beds
to undress their souls which then to be catapulted
into dark pits in the sky which can not be compared
in size to those they push down kids and ordinary people
minding their own business
in markets, farms and floor tables

Do they need their palaces to be built in cemeteries
with large windows and no curtains
Do they need an ominious illness to take their children
and to be debarred from love of all sorts

Do they need a great famine to hit their territories
hunger and thirst to wade into their cellars
from all cardinal directions,
which their index fingertips travel to daily
dancing on sophisticated maps,
so that their mouths and limbs
have no more power to give orders
for additional troops and arms deals

Do they need a sudden offensive by aliens from the space,
to stop their cruel, unjust killings,
who would suck up all the bullets and melt their missiles
by hand.

Purple Dress

Like moist steps of a distant rain,
deliberately but slowly approaching,
send shivers down ants' spines
purple satin dreams
wrap around the waist
of my waking life
whirling and shining
bright
becoming gleeful light
filling the torso of your cup

here, one for the road!
rub your palms together and wait
for hope's homecoming

Sol Americae

I stumbled upon a stage butterfly,
in the lonesome hallway of autumn,
whose new-fledged wings fluttered
hesitantly, so did his words

Offered me some mesmerizing
aromas lingered in his teen
flame surfing a late summer evening
should I say lemon-scented gum
or eucalyptus tree
not to forget jasmine mixed
with mild ocean breeze

As he flew away
more confidently
I promised to linger
in his silk memories
and random lines
He promised not to let spotlights
fade his vibrant colors in winter

We might have changed
there and then
each others lives
unpretentiously,
quietly

in hopes of sharing the same skies
in a future spring

Parfume

No matter what they do for a living, there are those people who talk, look, even sit like they hold a secret and a sweet feeling about it. They crave for other secret holders to talk, look good and sit together.

They have an eye laid on the embroidered tulle curtain right behind the reality, our daily lives. Whenever a naughty breeze plays with it they steal a glimpse of the misty scenery from a distance, appearing in motion, on and off...

They walk as if some song is playing that no one but they hear.. they seek familiar ears.

Just like invisible dust particles in the air they sense things but spare the delicious experience to themselves, and finally the secret forms a time capsule for them to take off..

Note to Self

Do not despair!

Said perhaps hundreds of big minds

Each day is a lifetime opportunity

Each person we encounter

Each meal with loved ones..

Do not despair, be good!

Biggest mission of yours on earth

that is..