I have no regard for splashy flowers
stretching for the sun with ardor keen
a luminance to which my eyes are blind:
I brush them aside, searching for the unseen
The one that grows secret in the dark
that one is but the one rose for me;
her heart sparkles in the morning showers,
marshes-long sounds her scarlet melody
I have no regard for splashy flowers
sometimes, I even think my rose
writes about me

Lemons for Strawberries

I can’t stop growing.

Even if this life is not meant for some endeavors of the heart,

I cannot have this mean it is meant for others, neither

Whatever the odds, I’ll take it

Whatever the challenge, I’ll face it

And at the end of the road, I hope to find someone greater, wiser,

to whom I can say:

“you threw hurdles along my way, and it never even once stopped my rebirth”


how come I stay who I am, yet expand wider than the sea?
when they ask about me,
tell them I painted cumuli on the cerulean by the brush of my palms
that I raced on the white crests of the waves with dolphins
and that my heart always longed for the horizon, starving to touch the infinite – 
the reason these sparkle-spangled fingertips are able to create freely
is that I leap over the bounds I’m thrown decisively
I have no patience for mediocrity

the world between the worlds

You have such a pretty, pretty face, my blue-eyed friend;

a face almost too good to be true

but you only swim in shallow waters

you’ve never met the despair of the trench

Wouldn’t it be a feat to misread my vibrancy?

To project the wishes you make for yourself

onto the spring of my ever-fresh novelty?

I shine as I shine as I breathe life into the deep

You have such a pretty, pretty face –

but I need no permission to be how I be;

the high honors will well serve the sea of sameness

but I will keep moving at my own pace –

back when you knew me, I was puffing and panting,

lagging so far behind

keep your memory fixated on that day

in the meantime, I will be reborn as the tree

that has weathered the storms

do not ask for my guidance, my friend

yet stand puzzled at the thorns

hamster wheel

when a vicious cycle reaches the end of its interval

it can be relied upon that my conscience has learnt

how to repair its glasses first,  how to refuse the acid

i always said “protect the ruins”, but i’d rather they burn to ashes.

we do not have to be opponents, young one—

for our curves only ever approximate

i do not have to reciprocate animosity

when the stage is yours rightfully

outdo me, outshine me, you will spot me sitting in the first row

earn your accolades, little fledgling; i will seek my own applause.




Compass Leading Hopewards

“What was I born for?” –

these words feel like a déjà-vu.

It seems like I have travelled through a thousand stories

Collected a bright string of multichrome memories

Only to find myself in a place I have grown so used to reaching.


My inner child running towards the horizon, waving her paper kite against the storm

Shooting me an audacious smile –

Sometimes, I watch you with awe

Sometimes, with disquiet.


Even on my way home,

when the fine rain intermingles with the sounds of airplanes and tires

Foil against aleatorik, chirping resounds with unrivaled cheeriness;

I lift my gaze, and it almost seems as if

My feathery friend sets off into heights I am not to familiarize myself with…


I, too, lack courage at times

I, too, lack answers at times

If everyone else figures it out, then why not I?


And just like the chirps, the beams make their way with obstinacy,

reflecting lush on the leaves the wind blew against the paving

Are the chirps becoming clear? Or how are these the things I hear:

“direct your steps hopewards –

this is where the skilled travellers go.

The beginning of each new morning will bear confusion, but

each loss is succeeded by new gain.”


The cherry blossom islands I fancied as a child, floating high above the clouds

I need to grow more to touch them, if only with my fingertips