kiambang.

In my spare times, I used to draw My favorite would always be portraiture Of faces I wish to remember of teachers, friends and lovers. In my busy times, I would still draw. But lately... whenever I put my pencil to paper It turns into a straw and the paper mellow to water White and pure than never. The more I gaze into it, the clearer is the color It doesn’t ripple but begins to sparkle. And, instead of me sucking for a drink The water seems to expand at the brink Rising like tides in the evening of the tsunami Swallowing me into, instead of just water, now a sea With my tongue and my hand I taste the salt and the sand Though my feet, I don’t know where they land. I know it’s real. It is real. And, the ocean breathes life to a figure Who wears a face I used to draw How I remember every curve and feature Softer than flower, Stronger than power Afar like history, Intimate like memory. All at once, tears dance in the pool of my eyes ...

when things get in our way and the lark refuses to stay or the word is too hard to say.. remember today, remember today, remember today.

a hidden grave will hide your body maybe someday they'll erase your story weapon and wealth, the luxurious property will no longer keep you company the wounded hearts will move eventually their tears will seep through the dry soil of the country the mourners will forget their condolence and sympathy but the earth, the unknown cemetery where you lie in mystery won't forbid the revelation of reality O' Qaddafi who knows the matter of your soul in front of The Almighty...

In the deep dark of the dead dawn A forest of grief has grown Rest in rage, a corpse of Eucalyptus slow dancing in a hiatus The moon up so high in the sky hides his eyes away behind lashes of a shameful decay refuses to see how her body sways The riot rhythmic moves of her stained feet mopping the floor of the rooted, tangled deceit the dusty ashes of her lost sanity appeals for a fleet I remember how she opens her eyes when she cries Trying to roll back the tears forming a lake beneath her bosoms Her white porcelain skin benumbed by the gloom of doom Her torn red frolic dress falls revealing her sanctum; a heart as hollow as a phantom I remember her crooked brown brows as her emotion frowns, with arms hugging her disowned broken boughs thick black blood runs from her mind to her chin and she grins as she mouths the word 'sin'. She dances to direction of the ocean of tears and blood of the ancient mourners She sinks deeper as she cries...

Life! What’s the matter with you? Sending me angels, with wings as wide as the sky with hands as soft as petals, holding me as if I could fly. Stop mocking me! Yes! Indeed, I’m the wounded devil broken head, bloated heart ankles- hurt, hands- anchored. But I was a devil who did no evil except believing in something; something quite medieval that came in a shape of double ovals skewed to the middle looking so royal acting so loyal keeping me moving in the spiral of a never ending ritual. of course I couldn’t spell the word I'm not a coward, I've tried before it took so much of me that even if I could I know that I would, not. and please, I beg of you stop lending me your sorrow I would prefer to borrow a burrow where I can hide my soul from all the ghosts and ghouls haunting me in every tomorrow and bury my worries that would grow memories as sweet as cherries Life, if only, for tonight You could tell the angels to stay for maybe tomorrow, when ...

at the instance the words hit the ground is when I realise how I regret standing up... in front of you and remain invisible.