A few poems I wrote....

1. A Woman: Sylvia Plath
her style
her apprehensions
her poetry
mysterious
painful
convoluted
like a woman:
they taught me that
there is a way out of the mind
an exit leading somewhere without a name
a place where all thrusts of logic are powerless.
did you know, Sylvia,
you female bird dressed in human skin,
that by commuting between
the skies and the seas
you ripped the ties
trapping those like you in mortality?
and did you ever stop,
while searching for a word,
to think that you would never die?
in rags your existence
never had the riches
in death, it does.
i read you, Sylvia, and i see life
i can touch your limbs,
the same limbs that got caught around your neck
and broke your throat
i can hear the child in pain
and i know it was in your womb
that your soul brought an end to your poetry.
surrounded by the invisible smoke of your ashes,
i hear you perpetually singing the songs
of frost and fate
of womanhood and death
in the contractions of my pain,
you breathe, throb and love
it is through you that
the whirlpool in my eyes
provides the remedy
healing
the absence of god in us
while living the devil in men.

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2. The Death of Love
doors close
windows break
eyes blind
words mitigate:
and then
It all stops.
love has made an entrance
hiding behind a sleeve
rolling inside a blouse
gently caressing a timid breast
it cannot talk
it just decides to stay
it yearns to embrace your soul
it tries to suck the marrow of your bones
it feeds from your insides
it wants you all
makes no allowances
a master
or nothing at all.
while life goes on
love is dying
lost deceived
rotting in your brain.
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3. Marcel's Funeral
stony i stood
my wrinkles shaking
my temples sweating
in disbelief
the funeral, his funeral
the worst of life's betrayals
(and they still them me
i have to trust give love)
rewinding the pain
no cruel lover will ever
match
the coldest of winters
under the hottest of suns.
Marcel, a breeze,
shot to death
by a storm (not a kiss)
the aftermath hardly matters
forever gone, he
forever alone, i.
those gazes i reached
those friends and the others
those strangers,
hardly matter
as i cried, like a fool,
for he was that embrace
squeezed within its flesh.
the gold and all the rest
hardly matter
lost all value
for he listens not
for he's gone
for it is him
what is no more.
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4. Forever You Marcel
a youthful smile
wrapped in hopes
a sudden storm
unleashing sounds
(like a kiss)
both as tenuous
both as vibrant
both scare me
you them all
you, Marcel.
might you come
and refuse to paint my walls?
not you
can you remember
that steamy night
in chinatown?
the night i left you,
went back to paint my walls
didn't want your silence
sparkling, raging
in your frozen gaze
you did, i know
help me draw the lines
you, the curves deviations turns
you, hidden secretive adamant
categorical loyal brother
you
my trials saw
but not my love.
do i waste my time
wondering
will you ever hear me
singing in our roots?
lingering with trembling hands
forever you Marcel.
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5. About Age and Time
am i really that old?
so old that pain no longer
slaps and wounds my face
into a tear or two?
so old that i sense my path
has already been paved?
so old that my steps
are but a faint smear in the mud?
can time collapse into a memory
a few stories and a lot untold?
is it powerful enough to swallow
my longings into an unwritten tale
without a script?
did it really choke my breath
my clean breath
which loved to blow into a smile
and sometimes even a kiss?
where is it now shaping my words
creating sounds
distorting needs?
will it keep the warmth
that had no questions
that could emerge
in and out of the limelight
with no make up?
didn't i write the pages
stained the lines
gave them no meaning?
nobody warned me
that time would win
the race
fight the wind
close the gap
(the one i touched
in a moment of disarray)
stop me from shaping my tools.
dreaming, i was indeed
had lost the will
and found a veil over my head.
i've lost it all
but still have that drink
and i shall
(for a moment, short and weak)
enjoy it in my blood
as i wrinkle in my bed.
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6. A Summer's Beau
It was hot
and i felt it
so much more:
the beam, the glitter dimmed
along the quiet folding of time,
was shining gloriously
Unexpectedly,
it woke me up
from a groggy sleep.
More clearly defined
almost too overwhelming,
but it was back
that long-forgotten thrust
to bathe my gaze upon your face.
My words erode diversified
lava-like, rolling about sentences
without verbs and full of nouns,
in an attempt to structure
the time before you came.
Only a day or two ago,
i had killed all hopes
was burdened with artificial lust
attenuated longings,
when i found myself
holding you tight.
And today,
i dare to call you
irreverently mine.
As i walk,
waiting for your steps
as you reach about the bed
suddenly haunted by
the shiny memory of your back
at night
As i talk,
filling my paranoid moments with contempt,
But Oh so gentle, so very gentle,
i now feel the marvel of my love
rising above the decalcomania’s
i had cherished,
vividly focused
almost too simple.
(Why don't i fear the giant steps
that my passion can set forth
dread the day they'll grab me by the hair
again
and drag me down the avenue?)
But Oh so soft, so very soft,
i indulge, lounge, cat-like,
hoping you won't reject my dawn
when you see it,
and wishing i may never lose the way to you
when i find it.
And,
as i see your face
looking away from the mirror
(possibly to catch a glimpse of a fly
zooming by)
as i wonder if you'll miss
the silence of my lips
(while they moist your eyes)
as i quiver in an effort
to hide the pounding of my brain,
Yesterday,
i realize,
never did desert my bed.
And,
as i lose your hand
slipping down my neck
(possibly to reach my arm)
as i toss my hair away
from the breeze of your breath
to help you reach my skin,
Yesterday,
i realize,
never will become today.
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7. Don't Scold Me, Dear
It isn't strange anymore:
when my pulse stops because
my mind is bewildered
confused, like my eyes
when my lips cannot shake because
my body is empty of orgasms
thirsty, like my legs.
Don't scold me, dear.
It isn't strange anymore:
when people ask if i care
and i answer that i don't know
when your hand reaches out
to hold
my freezing paws
when that bridge we used to love
now leads the way into
confusion for you
and a prison for me
when my writing is wordy
redundant, sometimes profuse,
like my longings.
It isn't strange anymore
two years later
(so soon!)
the magic, almost gone
back, my sleepless nights
and the phones, the ties
the jokes and the high heels:
none is strange
anymore.
Don't scold me, dear.
Continue being deaf to my tears
i promise to behave
if only for a day.
Once, a while ago,
after reading a simple book
i thought i knew it all.
Later, a stranger smiled at me
i forgot how to walk
and felt haunted
until i managed to keep
a thought, a kiss
made them mine
and hid them in my gaze.
The smile brought me a home
your warmth, your needs
and i felt comfortably
dressed.
It isn't strange anymore:
but i feel none
while you sleep
i make riddles with my hair
i found the home of a shadow
that never took shape
Mine, it was, at daylight
and yours, at night.
There is a spark in you
it lies dormant when you smile
I'tll never be fully lit
never like a candle
more like a ghost.
Don't scold me, dear.
There is nothing strange
not anymore.
Go, sleep
Yes, i'll be all right
Just want to wash my hair
you won't mind, will you?
It's all i can do
while you sleep
even when time, being rude,
said it was enough:
i can still breathe my smell
though my eyes squint
at the crack of dawn
i can still welcome my shadow
though the world is angry at me,
i can always pretend
while i wash my hair
that i never knew i lived.
How strange:
for it is my life i waste
in perpetual wanderings
my face i erase
under the sheets.
my life i cannot control.
Don't scold me, dear.
Nobody will ever hold
the torch i failed to give you.