Away into the distance,
in the mountains and the hills
lives a part of me
that scales the heights of dreams
...
With only a few leftovers of coldness
The day dawns upon new tender buds
Soft rays turning sharp right above the head
As the day proceeds you want to lighten up
...
Where does a poem come from
From the womb of feelings
Or from the ruffled feathers of thoughts
The answer might lie in the silent moments of the night
...
I see nothing
Beyond this love
No brightness
No sparks of fantasy
...
You are the reason
Of all my seasons
You are the logic
Of my smiles
...
March promises growth
To the soil and the soul
March stirs with soft hands
The silent seeds of hope
...
Another sun goes down
Another day makes an exit
Slithers like an eel from clutching hands
...
Sometimes our words dance
in a rhythmic motion
sometimes bleed like a bullet-riddled body
we are the poets
...
A lane of shabby homes
Unfit for any breathing soul
Except these little urchins
Playing in the garbage dumps
...