boy turns into a man

sometimes this heart feels lonely

like an open sea,

the winds of the south,

lingering, turbulent,

a wave of undesired thoughts


the dashes,

the echoes of an unanswered questions

with a broken pen and an empty ink pot,

a razor slits through the mirror

and bleeds a young man’s face












some day you awake,

to a silent god

and you take a bath,

long and deep,

in a pool of flames

you feel your demons within,


tearing through your boiling skin,

and the heavens,

can only seem so far away,

from the eye of the undying

the torment,

the dust on a forgotten painting,

to shade my heart black

and a silent god would awake,

to a cloud of my ashes

the essence of another soul

My demons

A flickering candle on an empty highway

light my way into a sunrise

for the dead walk in the shadows,

and the ghosts fly in the moonlight

but my demons,

I walk with,

on the inside



Walking on a boulevard
My silent self around strange faces
The city of lights
The Arabian beats
Paint a modern art,
And cast a new man in the sand


Walking on a boulevard 

My silent self around strange faces

The city of lights

The Arabian beats

Paint a modern art,

And cast a new man in the sand

Passing souls

The dimming lights, 

A flickering candle on an empty highway

Darts a wagon

Killing it’s flame, 


The smoke of the passing souls 


the lips that fail,

to speak the secrets of a heart

the lone rose in an empty park

on the bench,

a hand that moves away,

in another man’s hand

the resonance

a silent wind and it’s whispers

a bleaching petal,

falling into a winter’s cold

my flesh will numb tonight,

in the tears of an unspoken love








i find no words for the gratitude,

to define my sincere appreciation

to the humble and honest readers of my blog


really, thank you!


I remember the early times, my first poem

written for a friend who has grown all her life with her mother having lost her father while still young. I desired to capture the love and pain between, the cautious advice of her mother truly intended for her daughter to live a better life.

I honestly do not know how well I did, but like I said, it was my first.

I have been writing for about a year now, changing styles and stuff, faced writer’s blocks too, erased way too many works before publishing but kept on.


When I read some of my work I wonder, did I really write this?

How to explain I do not know, but I become gratified, and remember this has been a journey of many adventures and wish to continue with you all.  Thank you!





the bird and the sky

i don’t know the way of the sky

i am a bird of the wind

feel the brush on my skin,

my quill feather may fail


a canvas of white spreads,

above the clouds,

a worthiness to live,

a worthiness to die


a penny tossed from the sky

from birth to death,

the faces of gods

and the hope to live the heavens





Blog at

Up ↑