Heart Controller

To grow out a stalk from a tree That, one day, will be a forest, Is extremely difficult for I lived A life void of He and full of She, And because of She, I have to Stitch some threads to form A line to keep in touch. Even If I was to be overseas or maybe Some few steps away from He. It is difficult, for He has chosen, For I have observed with eyes So innocent: the days become Nights and nights creating A tearful moon since the sun Has hidden the blessings it Once provided and so I write Words before speaking them Out loud in hope that it might Just help me stay together. Sunday, 31 st of May 2015

The conscious is always admired, but today the conscious is tired, Unable to form a linguistic command that would interrupt a blank page, Stares idly at something blurry that fades into a template, A structure, part of a frame, watched every second as the eyelids drown, The conscious still trying to imitate its previous self, though– A past becoming a foreigner and the headache of it all begins, Every sound is an attack to its personal privacy, A characteristic of a burnt-out incomprehensible conscious, And as you can see, reader, it produced a wounded poem. Wednesday, 27 th of May 2015

Once in a land not too far away, I searched for a tiny singing girl, She saw me then began to play, Voice of a bird, heart of a pearl, Dances, too, oh what a lovely day, As I leave, my soul starts to curl, Tears to shed, that is the only way, All of the memories, I should just hurl, And so I did, painful love I had to pay, Yet, something will always unfurl, Maybe, my eyes on hers’, it will lay, You might then remember that boy and girl, I saw her once again, but nothing to say, I became a well-known kingdom’s Earl, And I left everything behind but it may– My soul escapes my body to touch her pearl, She doesn’t remember me and so I pray, Her heart starts to sing, mine starts to whirl, Under the moon I want us to stay, For time has caused our fate to twirl. Wednesday, 27 th of May 2015

I saw how earth guided the river away from the human’s apocalyptic pollution, And how it tried to protect it from both sides tending to its pain until it reached the ocean, I heard the river speaking with the earth about its birth, childhood, and future, An intimate relationship based on the caring eyes each one received from the other, The sky now listened to their dreams about colourful trees where both can become one, And so, it formed clouds pouring rain so pure to dilute the poisoned river, Yet, the acidic air only foretold a story of reopening many scarred wounds, The sky, devastated by the sound of agony, spread its wings to blow fiercely winds, To hasten the arrival of a meeting where one’s wounds would become its freedom, I imagined them departing for they have walked quite the distance into a bright horizon, You can see, my dear reader, how nature has stared directly into humanity's eyes, Only to show the romantic passion it possesses, and yet, ou...

You showed me a page I have long forgotten, Scribbled at the top few letters of dedication, With drawings shaped as beautiful hearts, And I can hear your voice through the words, The song to be sung for the waves to carry, For the wind to spear my young beating soul, Through the lands and through the oceans, I await the moment, the clashing of the hearts, In the form of hugs, kisses, or just eyes to adore, For I do not mind hearts in any fashion . Monday, 25 th of May 2015

I soared over many cities, Neither hunting nor protecting, Just observing the humankind. My eyes touched many, To meet and to remember, Yet, only few pierced my mind. A filter created by the conscious, To mould creatures out of clay, Detailed sculptures designed. She overlooks my interest in her, I then ignore her presence for a while, Our eyes smiling, acting as if blind. Not a detective in profession, But sensing natural connections, So, I keep flying over her kind. A metalwork on her royal neck, Antique curves to resemble a bird, Golden ages when it was mined. Her foreign gaze now boring, I overlook the city and move on, Her figure fading, never to be shined. An abrupt ending, reader, I know, And so be it for I have sadly found: To move forward, many are left behind. The mind of humankind was designed to be blind, A kind to be mined for a show shined leaving all behind. Friday, 22 nd of May 2015

As I look into the human mind, I see a lonesome pulsating nerve, Enslaved for another to serve, And wishes to never become blind, I see him possess a little hope, But bullied to bury a loving heart, And to imitate a work of art, And get back to being tied in a rope, I see him a faceless portrait, And the pulse is lost beyond reach, A story to tell many kids to teach, I quit and draw my self-portrait. Tuesday, 19 th of May 2015

Is it not natural for humans to cry? Then why am I holding back in pride? What is there to mask or even lie? From whom am I attempting to hide? Will my whispers ever be able to say hi? Am I really feeling a heavy gloomy tide? Is my soul almost ready to forever die? And leave behind useless inks dried? To whom shall I weep and say goodbye? Who will walk over my grave after I died? On the deathbed, how will I lie? Curled up? On my back? Or my side? Will you, reader, be there to dry The voices of tears? And guide The people through the heavenly sky? So that everybody stays by my side? O reader, you may, one day, ask “why? Why have you not lived and tried To recreate a peaceful world? Or fly Towards the sun on a unicorn you ride?” O reader, you are a really innocent guy, So forget your dreams, put them aside, Because, to you, I will never deny The peace that was forever denied. Sunday, 17 th of May 2015