in narrow corridors and hollow shelves

dreams exist

where gulfs of sadness

swallow everything whole

breathe in rays, dim lights swim

(and i see) you stand

in that grandiose of broken lights

like starlit lamps, eyes glinting

in hues of pink and red and love and hope

in a stuttering breath, you mutter

of wishes that only linger for so long

oh, please, let the well answer

for the magic ball

does not speak true

i hear it clearly, shadows dancing

the echoes of a raven's cry

love! hear her sing, soar in your hands

she lives there, fragile wings

encased in cold palms

and gentle whispers

glasses remind me of you

clear and crisp with all its smooth edges

but you weren't glass - were you?

and that was my mistake.

you were glass, sharp and cutting and vitriolic

you were every caustic word out of your mouth

and you were every missing shard, sliver, fragment.

you were a dull mirror, cloudy and hazy and fogged

you were a mirror but you were not; broken but not quite so

a silver that shined bright but never bright enough

it doesn't take much to throw away an in-between

breaking a mirror on the verge of being broken

a razor-sharp tongue and a flick of the wrist

you were fragments.

i hate you, every fragment and piece of you

every tiny sliver of glass that was you

i hate every chip, shard and i hate

that i keep on building you back

keep on gluing all your fragments together

even when i know you are nothing,

nothing but fragments of another broken mirror

a poem for you (you know who you are):

when i dream, i think of you –

your fingers clicking on the keyboard, lines and lines of code plastered

on the screen of your computer

glinting sharpness, remnants

of whatever happened behind

i dream of your smile

a frown, sometimes, eyes distressed

tiny sparks, like candles in an empty sea and –

i keep this hope in my pockets, memories in old receipts

you are that train of thought, cutting too shortly

and yet,

i cant seem to forget

i hear you the most – in quiet nights

like silver burning closed windows

you sound like love

waves tearing rocks apart

as though they were my heart

and you were the sea

i see you again

in numbers and lines and see outs and see ins

numbers and practicality

and maybe that's what all i am

to you,

is it love?

your clothes smell like home

arms, sunshine that warms every golden smile.

yes, this is how she loves you

she loves you like the warmth you seek to find

loves you as passionate as the blue star

you see every night

burning the heart, leaving ashes that tingle like satisfaction

yes, that is how she loves you

but i love you

in rainy nights

torrents that scream what i want you to hear

droplets that shatter silence

a part of my heart

in every bead that sits on your windowsill

sometimes its her (mostly her)

but that's fine

because i can wait for those days

when its me (again)

maybe we're in wonderland – where clocks dont tick and seconds fade away

did the queen of hearts take your heart as well?

Oh, the cat! mad hatter,

teach me how to smile

even when they're together

let's rewind

some days its her, some days its me

and that's fine, really

it's an endless loop, you see

(a non terminating one, is that how you speak?)

of lines and lines and lines of the same thing

three words that sound too closely a lie

its an endless loop of sadness

and smiles with you

and for everything in the world

i wouldn't trade

a moment with you

Will my heart 

Stop beating for this country?

The burning rubble fades in my head,

the taste of lead

no longer on my lips

Your screams fill my lungs and

I swallow it whole

my love, my past, my history

There are no more cadavers

sinking in the filth

of rivers and cries and time

Fire tailing my heels no more

Can I wash away

The blood etched under my nails

The grime of victory

The ashes of a history

I clutch rose-colored beads

like hope spilling over

a closed fist

Remember me.

Fallen petals and torn rosaries

Slinking in between our feet

The marching of heavy boots

on broken asphalt

Remember me.

My cries, my tears, my fears

Roads that meant death,

Brick by brick

another life

Remember me.

Identity lost in another sea,

Of songs that will never be heard

Caged in mouths covered in fear

You and I fight

Sing of the unsung for one more day,

Let our voices be heard

Scream to deaf ears until,

Victory.

We will fight for our heroes,

Our children, our martyrs,

Our students, our teachers

We will fight for hope, 

for tomorrow.

#MarcosNotAHero

Minimalism.

The black of her dress spills out onto the white marble floor, her hair curled in small ringlets that flowed down her back. She eyes the other women in the room, garbed in sophisticated furs and gold that shimmered under the silver light, and she smirks to herself. She bears no other jewelry save the ruby pendant that rests above her breasts.

She smiles to herself, as she raises her hand to push back the strands of hair that fell in front of her face. The room was wide, and becomes even more expansive from the placement of the mirrors and white paint. The tiles are a distinct white marble, lined with black that creates a grid-like pattern on the floor. She moves her way across dancing couples, carefully marking her path towards a small sculpture that stands at the corner of the room.

The person in the middle of the room stands tall, playing the violin. His deft fingers move quickly on the fret board, but she doesn’t notice. She’s too busy eyeing the black bow that rests snugly at the base of his neck, black and pristine against the white of his dress shirt.

She turns back and resumes her journey to the sculpture, a small statue depicting another Greek goddess. It was rather simple – just a sleek figurine of Aphrodite. She traces a finger along Aphrodite’s face, the marble cold to the touch. She waits, counting down the time until the wine gets served.

She’s also waiting for the clock to strike seven, when the puzzle actually begins to start.

A couple waiters pass by her, offering her a wine or two, but she shakes her head politely, a smirk pulling at her lips every time. They’re not the people she was waiting for. She closes her eyes for a while, tipping her head back as the violinist performs another vibrato. Her watch ticks faster, a bit erratic, reminding her of the time. She doesn’t have to wait much longer, as a man walks towards her.

He’s dressed in a sleek suit, dark and mysterious and everything elegant at the exact same time. His eyes shine brightly under the silver lighting, and she can’t help but admire how his cheekbones are sharp enough to cut glass.

She purses her lips, then straightens her back as she waits for the man to come closer to her. They stand side by side, the statue of Aphrodite in between of them. The man playing violin changes his piece to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, and she tilts her head in wonder as the man beside her starts tapping his fingers along with the melody of the piece.

“Arden,” The man starts, his tapping ceasing to slow touches on his dark trousers. “Why’d you ask for me?”

She simply smiles.

Simple. And he knows what he has to do. He moves away from her, getting a glass of wine and brings it back to Arden.

“Is it time?” He asks, holding the glass of wine gently and slightly shaking the liquid inside. It reflects the light and its color shine a deep red, much like her lips that were painted a bold scarlet. She grinned as the people dancing started swaying faster, in time to the quickening tempo of the piano and violin.

“Yes, yes. Start from the nobles, Charles. It wouldn’t do if you recruit the useless ones,” She says, almost nonchalantly.

She slips a hand inside her black purse, finding the lipstick that gleamed ruby red. She took it out and uncapped it, a silver knife that glinted in the darkness of the corner. It was a short blade, really, but sharp to the touch and easily wielded by someone with agile and deft fingers. She ran a tentative finger over the edge, grinning to herself when a line of blood formed on her delicate skin.

Charles leans over to her, “I’ll meet you back here in an hour.” It was confirmation until the second phase of the puzzle finally began. She nods to him, and watched as he slowly stalked away towards the east of the vast ballroom.

She finally moves away from the statue of Aphrodite, her clutch tight around the lipstick bottle as she weaves her way towards the edges of the dancing couples. She finds her targets quick enough, within seconds of starting her journey anew. Slowly and inconspicuously at the same time, she twists a finger tauntingly and seductively at the man in front of her, teeth sinking in the luscious red of her lips.

She closes in to him, like a predator to its prey. She’s closer than a hair’s breadths, and she inhales the sweet burn of his expensive perfume. It’s a shame, she thinks, his scent would soon be tainted by sin and lust.

“Hello, Sir Leon Pennington,” She murmurs, almost like a whisper that leaves his pulse thumping faster. Her green eyes glint darkly from underneath her lashes, and Arden just grins with delight when his pupils start to dilate. She’s pressed flush against his chest, her hand falling right above his chest, a finger playing with the dark necktie that was wrapped against his neck snugly.

The man is speechless against her hold. But what else can he do?

She slowly uncaps her lipstick, and pressing her lips to his pulse point, she quickly draws a line from a point on his neck to its antipode. The man gapes at her, and the blood rushes quickly from the wound and taints the pristine white of his dress shirt.

With a sly smirk, she pushes her lips on his, silencing him from any complaints of pain. She wasn’t that heartless to leave him with a bleeding wound that stung like hell. She felt the weakening pulse quickly, and she removes her kiss on him once she knew his heart was no longer breathing. A grin of success on her face, she carves a small letter on his right wrist, and kisses the nape of his neck, leaving her own mark.

Her red lipstick had unknowingly become black, as dark as her soul and the intentions behind her eyes. She leaves the man slumped on the side of the wall, knowing that in exactly half a minute a waiter would cross him and think of him as a man who got wasted even before midnight passed.

Inwardly, she crosses his name of the list of her targets, and she scans the room for the next possible ones. She narrows her eyes on a woman that was garbed in a deep blue silk, and waits for the next song to start. The tempo of the violin was considerably slower, and in a slow fashion she again dances her way through the crown, until she spots the woman leaning against a small table. The woman is fanning herself, red hair falling down her face in a cascading curtain.

Arden easily smiles at her, and strikes up a conversation about the terrible weather and thick clouds that seemed to cover the moon. Underneath the table, her fingers grip the sharp metal.

I look for an anomaly in this grandiose I call my life

And seek for new wonders in a well-rehearsed pattern

The clock hears the never ending mundanity

The simplicity behind the red little dots

I look for another oddity in a person afraid of change

And I see nothing but the minimalism it weaves and leaves

The calendar grows old and the months and days melt away

But the peculiar change never seems to cease

I look for new magic tricks from the same magician and trickster

But the cards fly away in the same old, same old way as it did

The watch’s arms move in a synchronized abnormality

Seemingly in time with the passing mistakes and faults

I look for another simplicity, another mundanity

When all I seem to find is a bumbling mess of sins

The timer turns back and the sand falls faster than ever

Calling to it a mystery, an anomaly that no one seems to find

I look for the magician’s hat that flew in the night

The rabbits a show of innocence amidst the air of conspiracy

And when the roses and thorns remind me of what I’ve lost

The tears and salt will talk for the inordinate conformity

I keep searching for a puzzle

That’s different from everyone else

I try to find the mystery

That holds me back inside.

It resonates in the hollowness that I call my mind

And I hope for another enigma to find

Sometimes I see it staring back at me plainly

Sometimes I don’t see it at all

And the confusion leaves me dazed, for a moment

Or two, but it doesn’t matter

The game was just another empty promise

That I find extremely promising

And the world continues to turn, on and on

Another metaphor left in the dust

I am tired of searching for something that’s not real

Of solving a puzzle that doesn’t exist

Because when there is no complexity

There is only simplicity

And I am content.