Posts
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Tree in the Early Mourning
Oh, look at the leaves.
Look at how they cry.
Look at how they tremble,
Fragmenting the sky.
Look at how they remember
autumn breeze
and autumn nights.
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Things To Tell My Younger Self
Your home will be forever changing. Your life will not be measured by the dents in a wall, or the pictures on the ceilings. You will not have a childhood best friend.
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Crusty Child
Crusty child,
rub your dry eyes,
flap your birdlike limbs,
stare with an open mouth.
Are you hungry?
Are you sad?
Are you tired of being a crusty child?
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Ugandan Evenings
Pale peach fading
Into hazy blue sky
Backdropped against lush greenery
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Revelation/Revitalization
And it was at that time…poetry arrived.
Or rather,
I fell into it.
Idly turning pages,
lips mindlessly mouthing words,
transcribing sounds into sentences.
From mud it called me. -
If I Was to Travel Back in Time
I’d see a few things:
The sweet girl my father claims I used to be.
The daughter who adored her dad,
making guitar sounds as a way of insisting
he play his favorite musician
Loves
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Cracks in an Hourglass
imagine this:
us, walking barefoot through the wreckage of melted roads
the sun carving epitaphs into a sky too scorched for rain. -
Too Much, Too Soon
They call us the lost generation,
but how can we be lost when we see everything?
We inherited the ruins,
the sins of the past like notifications,
the echoes of greed carved into policy,
