My Valentine

Simple natural beauty has its own essence

Ignorant I am when it comes to romance

Love being something completely unfamiliar to a heart,

Hard as a rock, like mine

Until you, my dear:

Love,  love is beautiful!

How can I describe .  .  . 

You, my valentine, are a rainbow

Pure and Colorful

Oh, Lovely lady! The most beautiful song of all

Like I have no words to say

I could listen you speak all day long

Like, the favorite day of my life.

You, my dear, are the most beautiful of all!

How I wish I could convey my love to you.

Let me try, in the simplest of words:

Like the heat in a cold winter

The sugar in a coffee

The air I breathe

Everything!

Oh! Gosh,

I lose my mind when I look at you:

Your eyes are of a goddess, so genuine, mine shies away

Goodness, the first time we met, you took my breath away.

I have daily problems of my own

And the deadly notion, that life sucks!

But, with your presence, it's just like a silent night

You are, as though, a candle who brightens my day!

Birds are cute; nectars are sweet

Like a cherry, your red lips taste

Better than any cherry, and

Are cuter than any bird. 

Thus, I cherish our love.

With soft kisses, my moments bliss

Sprouts of joy spring upright 

The roses of love, blossom within my heart

How wonderful! 

Your hair flows long like a seamless river 

With a gentle touch, by delight: the sunrise, the ocean, the sky, and the galactic stars-- all vanish-- which compare none to the pleasure, the softness of your skin.

Rocks, hills, mountains, and plains-- they are mundane-- your body being

(Infinitely) more to explore

You are a fire, my rock star!

Tick tock,  and you slow my clock

My love, you defy the laws of my universe

My valentine, you are the awesomeness of my life!

The Tale of a Ghostly Mountain

On one of the darkest of nights in November; in the middle of a dying jungle of banyan trees: two brothers are cowardly awaken by the sound of a blood-thisty raptor. All three, who are in an old bus, unknown to them all.

The third brother, who stands still, in front, gazing across the window is all lost in mind, but knows little to speak of what has just happened.

There is nothing outside the bus, but darkness.

Evil is spread all around, for they are on top of a mountain- the ghostly mountain!

A crow caws; it shatters through the window; the three brothers close their ears in fear. "The sound that woke you two up," whispers the eldest, "It is not to be disturbed for we are in a strange land now, a land no one should have been."

He then walks close to the window, slowly,  with a knife in his hand, and turns his head at his brother Sai.

Sai, the youngest of them all, trembling in cold, wispers into Wanga's ear, "Wanga, what's happening to us, tell us for the two of us remember nothing, but returning home. And now we are here, hungry and cold, on an alienated place, no where close to home." 

Misty clouds fill the air. Aki, the middle of them all, who is leaning against the wall, closes the door in despair. He coughs on his left hand, and is ill with some sort of disease that causes his blood to turn black, and he is feeble.

He falls down on the floor as though dead corpse, and tries to hide his knee with a book. Only then does the other two realize he is injured. They move towards him.

They take away his book. Blood drips down from his knee and he cries aloud in agony, "Something big is wrong! We should have never come here. It is all Sai's fault."

"Would you shut up Aki? He is only 13," yells the eldest. Sai brings a first-aid kit with tears in his eys, and Wanga cleans the wound, wraps a cloth around his knee and speaks to him, "Feeling better?" 

"Yes!" he answers with a breath.

While this takes place, Aki in tears watches the window. He sees on the window, face of n old widow. The glass shatters. She smiles at him with her cannine teeth; and, in an animalistic high-pitch voice says to him, " Good boy!"

Aki takes few steps behind until he feels the touch of two hands on his shouder. They shrugg him up. He recovers and is heard, " Look at me!" It is his brothers.

Once he comes back to senses, he tells his brothers about the widow and suddenly the wind starts to blow. The rain starts to drain. And not only that. The thunder starts to strike. Eventually, the bus slowly moves, and finally starts to slip down the hill.

They realize the bus is no safe heaven to them any more, no more than the dark night. The eldest  holds his brothers hands and starts to walk outside, ahead in the rain. Aki traces the path down the hill with a torch light in his hands, untill he hears the sound of a feet walking towards them. He looks back but no one is there. Right then, he hears it even louder. When he is about to look back again, he falls down and is lost in the drain.

The eldest still has the youngest in his hands, and still walking, they search for the last. Alas! He could be dead. They search everywhere but find him no where. At last, they find their way back to the bus again. The bus is upside down, and many broken glasses and metal pieces are lying around.

As they try to sleep in the bus, the rain stops, the thunder stops,  but the mountain suck their blood from the soil, from the air,  little by little, from everywhere. Is it a dream? A nightmare? No one knows, until the eldest wakes up and the youngest is there no more. He is curious and depressed and tired and hungry and angry what has been happening all night. 

As he slowly opens the bus door, it starts to make a kinky noise. He looks back at brother inside, he sees none, but skeleton of many young fellaws. One in front has a knife in his chest, the other on his right side, one legged. They both lie prone on the floor. Wanga takes the knife out of his chest and boom, the little one kicks him hard on the chest. Together the two pack of bones drag him by the leg, out the bus and down the hill.

The first rays of sun fall upon them. Out of a sudden, the skeletons then break apart like a falling tree and turn into crows, falling down on the ground. As Wanga starts to run towards the gate, the ghostly mountain along with the crows, slowly melt into the soil. Objects start to turn greener, richer, and warmer. When the ghostly mountain sinks completely, he barely escapes from the gate. 

Outside the gate, he yells out, "I am free, at last!" Suddenly, he hears the sound of a crow again. He rubs his eyes in disbelief, realizes he is still in a bus. He happens to find himself  sitting in a school bus with other kids, with a female driver in front. She suddenly turns her head, stretches her ugly face towards him, and says in his brothers voices, "Who wants to go to the Ghostly Mountain?"

WHO, WHAT, AND WHY?

WHY THE WORLD AM I WHAT I AM? AND HOW AM I, I? HOW DO THINGS AND NOTHING EXIST. WHAT IS THE POINT OF ME BEING HERE. WHAT KIND OF A PERSON WOULD NOT KNOW ABOUT HIMSELF. WHAT IS EVERYTHING, AND WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON? WHAT IS THE POINT OF EVERYTHING? WHY AM I SO DUMB, ABOUT ME, ABOUT EVERYTHING, ABOUT NOTHING AND ABOUT YOU, HIM, HER, THEY AND SO ON? WHY THE WHAT SHOULD I CARE, RIGHT? WHY SHOULD I NOT?WHY AM I NOT THE ONE THINKING IN HIM OR HER, AND WHY NOT, WHAT ARE YOU? TO THINK OR NOT TO THINK, TIS' NOT I WHO IS WHAT IT SEEMS, IT SEEMS LIKE SOMEBODY IS DOING IT. WELL, WHAT DO YOU THINK? WHAT IS THE WORLD REALLY ABOUT. WHY IS HE HERE. IT DOESN'T EVEN MATTER. WHY IS SHE HERE?WHAT EVER. ANY WAY, WHY ARE YOU HERE? FORGET IT. I AM TIRED OF ASKING QUESTIONS. WHAT'S THE POINT, RIGHT? SERIOUSLY, WHO THE WHAT ARE YOU? AND WHY AM I ASKING?

Waterfall

Strange as it seems  

Like a stream that falls off a cliff, striking

Falling! I feel the cold waterfall, all that it becomes

Lost  in droplets and splashes; drumming of soil I hear

In the depths, I fall 

Into a forest. Ah! The smell of roots!

And a rainbow appears next.

Below fall; above forest, I let go off my soul

Causes much pain or anxiety or a dream

This dying hope, a magnificent dream 

What a joke! Like a cold wind-blow!

I am lost in this fall, a turmoil   

Water that is life, as it falls  

 A fall that is beutiful, in eyes, but blind 

The fall so harsh, that sucks  

The hope, the rainbow, that springs upwright

The drops  disapearing into mists; moisty air  

That surrounds me, that hunts me, curses me, and that punishes me 

All that I live by   

So much to live

So much to thrive

What a fall.

Poet vs. God

Dear Lord,

The voices of nature so deep that when one hears

It cuts one by the ear

The feelings of love so  wild that sensations are benignly  ruined

Oh, mighty Lord. The cosmos and the stars! My soul was all yours.

Thoughts are active as electrons, atoms, and volcanos erupt

Everything vibrates; clearer than ever, brighter than eyes can see, or one could imagine.

Into a never ending cycle of  structures and deformations, life and death.

Now I am a part of living, now I have a brain, and ears to listen: speak to me nature!

Hail your storm at me and to the living dead. Show your self and dance 

To the suffering, voidless love, and sensations and deaths that are yet to be formed

To the wrath of what you have become, sing to me the song with the most demonic voice of all.

Now, that I have everything! Everything I own. Everything I know.

Lest you shall become, more I shall be.

Open as a mind can be, wide as wings can fly

What is there that I cannot be!

Your life, the knowledge of everything, the soul, is all that you can be.

For I am a part of all that is yours, a mind of my own, is all that it takes

To give a blow at everything. Not shall I remain, not shall the rest be,

For that is all you can be, not become, all that you are.

You have become ruthless, incomplete.

I stand before you, a mortal, to challenge, to die,

To fight, to feel the depeest of thoughts, come what may,

What structure, form, deform, or law you hold, you order, show yourself

I shall have my self to you, the imperfect being on you.

I shall pass it onto those who seek to know.

Your mistakes, the flaws, in creation of this beautiful world, for us,

By your default, shall collapse onto everything, everytime, every second.

Oh! Mother nature, how weak can it be?

If by prestige you are perfect, by name all that is good, could you not design well.

The perfection you desire is all but fake.

Why do you even let me be, an imperfect soul as I speak to you

Of your imperfections, throwing right into your face

Like a candle that is about to die, a bridge fall,

A touch numb, love hatred...

Or are you that funny, my lord.

To tease the crap out of mortals, 

To quote, "ignorance as bliss"

To let us yet crave for truth.

Truth or stupidity

Life and death

Sensation or numbness

Feelings and submission

My ruthless poetry or your imperfect creation

We shall see 

Come what may

Lord, show me if you are!

With love,

The poet

No Clue

The year was 1990

In my dream, I saw a butterfly

A giant yellow butterfly,

not a turtle, a butterfly

fluttering up to me, from distance

The fly said something.

???

Then it flapped its wings and went away

I opened my eyes-- a baby was born

Then the birdie-fly escaped through a wall below

So absolutely was born a dreamy empty child, 

wild awake in an insane world, I had no clue.