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  • Standing Before the Ocean

    Standing Before the Ocean

    I was standing

    in front of the ocean

    and I had nothing in me.

    Nothing I had collected,

    nothing I had desired,

    nothing I had wished for

    survived that moment.

    Everything…

    vanished.

    Just me.

    And my emptiness.

    My mind began to echo

    the same sound

    again

    and again

    waves.

    Tides touched my feet

    like the ocean was checking

    if I was real.

    And somewhere there

    the letter “I”

    fell out of I.

    Me

    was nowhere to be found.

    I became one with the ocean.

    Not poetically.

    Actually.

    I got lost.

    So lost

    I didn’t even realize

    my shorts were soaked.

    I was walking

    towards the ocean.

    Deeper.

    Not brave.

    Just empty enough

    to forget fear.

    Then—

    a ship’s horn.

    Loud.

    Sudden.

    Rude.

    It shattered the meditation.

    And I remembered

    I can’t swim.

    In that instant

    I returned.

    Name.

    Body.

    Thoughts.

    Limits.

    I became myself again.

    And standing there,

    wet, interrupted, ordinary,

    I understood something.

    I don’t know anything.

    The ocean

    knows

    better.

  • Mountain of Snow

    Mountain of Snow

    How cold…

    have you become, my dear?

    You didn’t change all at once.

    No.

    You rose slowly.

    First, a silence.

    Then a distance.

    Then a mountain.

    Now you stand there

    covered in white.

    So beautiful.

    So untouchable.

    So still.

    You have become a mountain of snow.

    And your heart…

    your heart grew so cold

    that even coldness whispered,

    “I am freezing here.”

    Tell me…

    Why should I stay

    at the foot of your winter

    when you shine so brightly with the sun?

    You glow.

    You shimmer.

    You blind.

    And I lie back

    pretending I am resting

    when I am really

    learning how to live without warmth.

    Listen carefully:

    I am not afraid of the cold.

    Cold is honest.

    Cold does not pretend.

    I am afraid of you.

    Not because you hurt me.

    Not because you left.

    Not because you shouted.

    No.

    I am afraid

    because I do not understand

    when love

    turned into altitude.

    When did your embrace

    become something I had to climb?

    And tell me…

    Is this love?

    Or is this something else

    wearing love’s white coat

    and calling itself devotion?

    I stand here,

    hands in my pockets,

    watching you shine.

    And I wonder

    if I am waiting

    for spring…

    or

    for courage.

  • Waiting at the Station

    Waiting at the Station

    Describe a phase in life that was difficult to say goodbye to.

    What can I say?

    Tell me.

    What can I say

    when you stand there

    grinning

    like history has selective memory

    like departures don’t count

    if you don’t look back.

    No.

    You didn’t do anything.

    You just left.

    Like a train

    that shut down forever.

    Not delayed.

    Not rerouted.

    Forever.

    The last time I saw you

    we were still on the same track.

    Same direction.

    Same rhythm.

    Steel humming under us

    like the future was certain.

    That was ages ago.

    And somehow

    I’m still at the station.

    Waiting.

    For the same train

    to board.

    Imagine that.

    Waiting for something

    that already decided

    it was done with me.

    You’ve become memory now.

    And memory travels fast.

    Faster than forgiveness.

    Faster than logic.

    Full speed

    through my mind

    a velocity

    my love could never equal.

    And the moment

    you went parallel to me

    close enough to see

    far enough to lose

    I knew.

    Parallel lines don’t meet.

    They just perform proximity.

    We looked together.

    We were never together.

    And I think that’s what hurts.

    Not that you left.

    But that I understood

    exactly when

    you were not coming back.

    I just wish

    I had been inside

    the last train.

    Not watching it leave.

    Not memorizing the sound

    of doors closing.

    But inside.

    Gone with you.

    Before the tracks

    decided

    which one of us

    was staying.

  • Ten Percent of a Smile

    Ten Percent of a Smile

    Twofold.

    Threefold.

    Tell me…

    how much do you want?

    No, really.

    How much can you carry

    without dropping it

    out of fear?

    Because love…

    love is always deposited

    in my heart.

    No closing hours.

    No suspicious transactions.

    No frozen accounts.

    Take as much loan as you want.

    I am not a bank.

    I am a sky with pockets full of sunrise.

    No guarantee needed.

    No interest charged.

    Just…

    pay me ten percent

    of what I give you

    with a smile.

    Not a borrowed smile.

    Not a polite one.

    The real one.

    The kind that forgets

    it is being watched.

    That is enough

    for a day

    to be happy,

    enough for a day

    to feel proud,

    enough for a day

    to feel… lovely.

    Because I know something.

    I know

    you have more

    than a smile.

    I have seen it.

    In the way your silence speaks.

    In the way your eyes refuse to give up.

    You are carrying

    a whole treasury of light.

    And I am just asking

    for ten percent.

  • Instructions I Didn’t Follow

    Instructions I Didn’t Follow

    I was told…

    not to worry.

    As the world walked by saying

    it’s your life

    your choice.

    Now it feels

    like I was listening to a song

    that keeps reverberating

    in everyone’s mind…

    but no one sings it.

    For some…

    very specific reason.

    I was told

    I had high potential.

    But somehow

    I went out of sight.

    Grounded somewhere…

    because I needed the ground.

    Not to hide.

    Not to fail.

    But to explore myself

    deep down.

    If you’ve decided

    to dig the ground…

    why can’t I go

    to the depth of it?

    Let’s dig together.

    I was told.

    I was simply told.

    Now

    I am doing.

    Because some things in life

    don’t make sense…

    until your ego

    becomes

    nonsense.

  • Torch Between Tides

    Torch Between Tides

    Railway tracks.

    Sea.

    Tides.

    Wave.

    Tell me

    is it me

    or you

    we’re trying to save?

    Carry a torch.

    Light the cage.

    Some doors don’t open

    till you age.

    If you think you’re history,

    name the page,

    where you lay your bones,

    your fear, your rage.

    If I squeeze my thoughts,

    they drip like paste,

    ketchup red

    from a crowded brainspace.

    My mind is packed,

    no room, no space,

    ideas collide

    then melt into waste.

    I can’t imagine

    you chewing my heart,

    but if you do,

    don’t tear it apart.

    Will I live long enough

    to ask your taste?

    Did it feel real,

    or easy to waste?

    If yes…

    oh yes…

    you passed the test.

    You saw my mess

    and called it best.

    Thoughts grow wings,

    escape the nest,

    circle my skull,

    never rest.

    No matter the spell

    you try to use,

    I bend, I break,

    but I still choose.

    I still rise.

    I still quest.

    I still try

    to be my best.

  • Bloom Together

    Bloom Together

    You look beautiful, my dear…

    said the barren tree

    with branches like empty hands

    reaching into the blue.

    Beautiful…

    you, dressed in pink laughter,

    while I stand here

    wearing winter.

    The blooming tree smiled.

    You could almost hear it in the leaves.

    Oh no…

    it is your service.

    Your silent standing.

    Your patience through frost.

    I am lucky

    to bloom beside you.

    The barren tree tilted slightly.

    Was that sarcasm?

    Or sympathy dressed as spring?

    A soft rustle.

    A petal loosened itself into the air.

    You will bloom very soon.

    Do not worry.

    Seasons are not permanent landlords.

    They visit.

    They leave.

    Together,

    we will bloom.

    Together,

    we will fill the hearts of passersby

    with fragrance.

    And if even one tired soul

    carries our scent home

    in the folds of their memory…

    Tell me, my dear,

    will we not be

    the luckiest couple

    in the world?

    The barren tree laughed.

    A dry, wooden laugh.

    I was only teasing.

    I know…

    we bloom on the same clock.

    When the wind carries our fragrance

    and it reaches human hearts,

    it will not just be scent.

    It will be sweetness.

    It will be hope.

    It will be proof

    that even what looks empty

    is only preparing.

    Some trees are blooming.

    Some are waiting.

    None are abandoned.

  • It Will Be Beautiful

    It Will Be Beautiful

    Travelling to the bottom of my heart,

    not walking,

    not floating,

    falling.

    Trying to land on emotions,

    where words do not speak,

    they shower,

    like flowers

    that do not ask for permission.

    If my emotions dry,

    and I have to crash,

    oh man,

    it will be beautiful.

    I have seen people

    walk with a smile,

    strike you on the way past,

    then say sorry.

    And somehow,

    that smile does not hurt.

    It flows towards me.

    That will not be a crash.

    That will not be trash.

    That will be the bang of the century.

    The hang of the century.

    The moment

    when time pauses

    just to watch

    me feel.

    Oh man,

    it will be beautiful.

  • Advice to My Teenage Self

    Advice to My Teenage Self

    What advice would you give to your teenage self?

    Brother,

    you have a lot to see in this life.

    Some of it will bruise you,

    some of it will bore you,

    some of it will teach you

    that happiness isn’t loud.

    One day you’ll crack the quiet code of kindness

    and suddenly the world will feel lighter.

    Until then,

    be kind to yourself first.

    That dream you saw,

    the one you never told anyone about,

    believe it.

    It wasn’t random.

    Start working on your art.

    Show your skills.

    Let people see you.

    Connect.

    And please,

    don’t stay home killing houseflies.

    You may think you were good at it.

    You weren’t.

    They just got bored of you,

    fell one by one onto the floor like tired actors,

    saying,

    “Alright, take the win.

    You didn’t defeat us.

    We surrendered.”

    Listen.

    She left you.

    It hurts.

    But you will move on.

    Move like a river,

    new every day,

    never apologizing for flowing forward.

    You’ll think,

    maybe I should join politics,

    work honestly,

    give my years to loving people of this country.

    Ambitious?

    Yes.

    Impossible?

    No.

    But don’t fall in love with preaching.

    Or advice.

    Be good.

    Do good.

    And remember to chill.

    Stars will lean toward you.

    The moon will light up your heart.

    Fly as high as you want,

    just keep your feet familiar with the ground.

    Your soul will glow.

    Dark paths will learn how to shine.

    Relax, bro.

    You’re doing better

    than you think. 

  • Depths of Your Love

    Depths of Your Love

    You can inundate me

    with your love,

    even if I don’t want to swim.

    I will keep a life jacket 

    strapped tight,

    because I might, 

    just might,

    see you smile

    before I drown.

    Even as I go under,

    I will be alive in your memory,

    deep down.

    As my body sinks,

    I become brighter there,

    like a jellyfish,

    like shells whispering to sand.

    If your love carries me

    to the depth of your heart,

    I want to anchor there.

    I will pay rent

    in tides of good feeling.

    The day my currency weakens,

    I will rise

    to the surface,

    plucked from your pulse.

    I will bloom in the dark,

    when you are not looking,

    my fragrance drifting

    through currents,

    invisible, untouchable,

    alive.