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  • The Tunnel Inside My Mind

    The Tunnel Inside My Mind

    Last night

    something strange
    was happening inside my mind.

    Not a dream.
    Not fully awake.

    Somewhere in between.

    Thoughts
    were clashing.

    Not loudly…..
    but like distant thunder
    behind thick clouds.

    I wanted silence.

    Just a clean space
    where a peaceful dream
    could sit down
    and rest.

    But something was blocking it.

    Unknown thoughts
    fighting each other….

    like guards at a gate
    refusing entry
    to something beautiful.

    Everything felt foggy.

    Fully cloudy.

    You know that kind of sky
    when the clouds become a lid…

    and the whole world
    feels locked inside.

    My mind felt like that sky.

    Closed.

    Heavy.

    Not a dream.

    More like
    a tunneling system.

    Long corridors
    inside the mind.

    I was aware
    of something moving there.

    My mind was active…

    but my body
    was sleeping.

    Not deep sleep.

    Just my eyes closed.

    And in that strange half-sleep
    I felt something unsettling.

    Like someone
    was living
    inside my mind.

    Someone unknown

  • Let the Tides Decide

    Let the Tides Decide

    Early in the morning

    before the world remembers its noise

    before even my name fits back onto me

    I stand.

    And I think

    today

    I will write.

    But the tides

    the tides will decide.

    The waves

    they will decide.

    The all powerful sea

    standing in front of me

    not loud

    not angry

    just certain

    will decide.

    Will it write with tides

    dragging long sentences across the sand

    or carve a single trembling letter

    with a wave

    that arrives

    breaks

    disappears

    or will it do something braver

    simply be sea

    unapologetic

    untitled

    untranslated

    remaining in its own beauty

    its own height

    its own depth

    And maybe

    the real question

    is not

    what I will write

    but whether I am quiet enough

    to let the ocean

    write me.

  • Lava in Silence

    Lava in Silence

    Yes.

    I am angry.

    Not loud.

    Not throwing chairs.

    Not breaking glass.

    I am the quiet anger.

    The kind that smiles.

    Inside me

    there is a small

    boxing ring.

    In one corner

    stands Mike Tyson

    In the other 

    Muhammad Ali. 

    And they are not fighting people.

    They are fighting

    the urge.

    The urge

    to answer back.

    To explode.

    To tear the sky open

    with my voice.

    I do not like

    bossy people.

    People who inflate

    tiny mistakes

    into world wars.

    People who walk into a room

    and try to rearrange

    your spine.

    We are tiny drops

    in an endless universe.

    Dust with deadlines.

    And still

    some speak

    like they invented gravity.

    Their faces turn red.

    Lava without eruption.

    They stack superiority

    like heavy books

    on my tranquil mind.

    My mind is water.

    Do not throw bricks in it

    and call it leadership.

    I am doing my work.

    I give what I can.

    Advice?

    If it is kind

    I will carry it.

    But I will not carry

    monkey noise.

    So I smile.

    Because if I speak

    my anger

    has teeth.

    And I am not joking.

    I do not punch people.

    I archive them.

    I fold them

    into poems.

    And by the time

    this poem ends

    they are already gone.

    Buried.

    Not in rage.

    In memory.

  • Shades of Gray

    Shades of Gray

    Somebody’s life is colorful.

    Somebody’s life is black and white.

    Mine is gray.

    I never know what to say.

    I change with the light,

    slipping from color

    into shadow

    each day. 

  • 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.