In the meantime

In the meantime I try to recall
A braided hair in my dreams
Of how neatly it is place like

A little centipede who crawls out of plan
Trying to reach a crack
In the midst of glass cup.

I think of little beautiful faces
In an ugly expanse
Like right now

When you try to reach your hand
Of an empty bottles
In a crowded street

Where people forgotten
How you were once so ugly as a star, and
How those dirty hands become beautiful.

Well I guess beauty should be stolen,
Others did try to in their lenses
They prisoned you for eternity.

In the meantime
I continue to caress
Your beautiful hair

Think of all sunsets to come
How our eyes meet them
Like horizon, like copulation.

They never get to see
When you walk gracefully during those times
When you wander aimlessly

With filthy sacks on your back
Filled with rubbers, old photographs, old newspapers,
Old memories, everything old and dirty.

In the meantime
I kiss your cheek
And think of all roses blossoming.

In the meantime
I try to forget this world,
I tried to.

Yes, I am entitled to that right?


We killed the night
It was an open victim
We likened them for mosquitos
We felt them sticking our skin
We killed them in an instant.

We pursued it like
It was just another dragonfly in the fields
Hissing, chasing the wind.
We liked it personally shared its thoughts
We liked how it taclessly told its secrets:

On how bluishly she smiled
Another fixed broken world
Creating another whirlwind
That swept our sluggish and
Lonely world,

On a little diary locked
With scribbles of little beings,
A sketch of immature love
Being told in pulps of banana,
Of little shelter it created for moonlit lovers.

Think of little things the moon created
Think of big things the darkness shared
Maybe, maybe they shared our common thoughts
Bounded of gray lines
Buying what our personal lives could not?

Oh how I loved the night
They offered me imaginations
Of shared lives
Of our love
Of our communion.

But yesternights, yesternight
And they were imaginations made
When we killed the night.

Dear Luck,

If indeed you exists, I guess it’s a bad day for you.

When I was small, I always yearned to meet you. People I passed by talk about you always like you’re a modern day superstar. Oh, I forgot that you are still a superstar up to this time. Whenever I heard someone talking about you, it kept me wanting to really meet you. There are several times I often thought you are facing me already. I faced thousands of people and before I knew their names, I kept telling myself they were you before their real names follow. To much of my expectation I was haunted by upset. When I start to get older and times get weary of me, I had doubts already. Times do change people preferences.

To be frank, I’ve become materialist. But believe me or not, I do still think about you though not that much often. Sometimes a specter of you comes to my dreams and we both fall in-love over and over again.

But I’ve moved on. I made my way to the top without you. Guess it’s really a bad day for you.