One day
When all these years will pass
I will pose as a bystander
I will write about you
I will coin you as my tragic flaw

When all these years will pass
You will be a frosty mirror
that I will seldom stare into:
Only to deflect

How a Masterpiece is Created

Vivid portraits of his laborious musings
fondled the edges of reminiscent songs,
In a cupboard full of stiff, bristle brushes;
not a single one could serve the purpose
of the nascent artistic smudging around the corners
of an icy idea.
An idea that hung low around rigid air
—reeking of emptiness and a distant regret.
“Snap snap” of a selfie camera
became the only condescending sound,
Still those hard bristles made not a single stir.
Lifeless M&M’s wrappers and coke cans
took the shape of photons and electrons,
Medieval voices of familiar people,
sank like dust particles on the canvas of no art,
Candles illuminated, dimmed and disappeared,
Songs raged, faded and halted,
The paint brushes of hardened exterior reposed
and he fell off the stool into a deep slumber.

Songs erupted, intensified and raged,
Candles reappeared, flickered and illuminated;
The awakening eyes welcomed the birth
of an unearthly Masterpiece.


I have never tasted liquor
But I can tell what it tastes like:
It is life devoid of life
and death a lingering metaphor;
both embracing one another.

Hands held together,
they meander down the rough trail of destiny:
Heavy tempests looming above
their toddling heads,
and a million suns emerging in the puddles
beneath their stomping feet.